


All Expenses Paid

by wannnabesuper



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bait-and-switch pairs, Barbershop Quartet, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, In that nobody actually gets together for awhile no matter how much they kiss, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, endgame Barbershop Quartet, office AU (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannnabesuper/pseuds/wannnabesuper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>E&L, the company where Natasha, Sam, and Steve work, is hosting its annual worker's retreat. Due to a misunderstanding with their boss, Sam and Steve are attending as a couple. Not wanting to look bad in front of her ex, Natasha is dragging her best friend James along as her fake boyfriend. At least no one is stupid enough to outright say "What could go wrong?"</p>
<p>Basically, a two-for-one fake dating fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Plans are Set in Motion

Natasha Romanov glared angrily at the nearly empty vodka bottle, blaming it for not containing any solutions.

  
“Technically, alcohol is a solution,” Kate piped up helpfully when Natasha decided silent blame wasn’t getting her point across. Clint giggled, then attempted to look serious as he nodded his agreement. He was at her favorite stage of Drunk Clint, where everything was funny but he somehow was convinced he could still pass as sober. No one, including Sober Clint, knew why this phase of drunk made him so convinced of that, since he only reached it after the “constantly declaring his drunkenness” stage, but Natasha loved it all the same. Unfortunately, she was too distracted to properly enjoy Drunk Clint, which only made her angrier.

  
The trio were lounging across her living room furniture, slouched against the couch (and the coffee table, in Clint’s case) with the sort of posture that can only be achieved after hours of complete disinterest in spinal column health. Clint had just started reassuring the vodka bottle that it was perfectly adequate, and did not need to take Natasha’s criticism too personally-positive reinforcement was a Very Important Concept to Clint-when James got home. It took him a matter of seconds to assess the group, determine whose problems they were drinking about, and bring the pizza to Natasha for the first serving.

  
“Pizza doesn’t solve my problems either,” she grumbled, tugging on James’s wrist to demand cuddles.

  
“It makes you less hungover in the morning,” he countered, gently taking his wrist back from her grip. She made an unhappy noise of protest around a mouthful of pizza, and he huffed a laugh. “I’ll be back out in a few minutes, darlin’, but you gotta let me go change outta my work clothes.”

  
Natasha conceded and used her now free hand to grab another slice of pizza. Kate, who had unearthed herself from the other end of the couch for better pizza access, watched James walk to his room with a speculative look on her face.

  
“Pizza might not solve anything, but what about James?” the younger woman asked, her scheming face well in place. Clint immediately began to reassure the pizza of its worthiness-mostly through the positive reinforcement of eating as much of it as possible-but Natasha just frowned at Kate in confusion.

  
“How’s he going to fix anything?” she asked finally. “Unless I have him kill Alexi…”

  
“I vote yes on that” Clint piped up, apparently having decided the pizza and vodka were both sufficiently reassured. “Definitely kill Alexi.”

  
“Who’s killing Alexi?” James asked, reemerging from his room and sliding easily onto the couch. He was absorbed into the puppy pile with enthusiasm. Natasha practically crawled into his lap, Clint flopped away from the coffee table to lean on James instead, and Kate leaned across, over, and around Natasha to play with James’s hair. James made the same face he always did when his friends were so casually affectionate with him, the awed, grateful smile that made Natasha want to kiss him. Not that he had a lot of faces that she didn’t want to kiss. As soon as his expression neutralized, she burrowed her face into his chest to avoid the temptation. James dropped a kiss on her forehead, ruffled Clint’s hair as he reached past him for a slice of pizza, and asked again.

  
“Seriously, who’s killing Alexi? Note that I’m not asking why.”

  
Alexi Shostakov was not well liked by those who Natasha considered her trusted friends-a group which included the three humans on the couch, her cat, and sometimes Clint and Kate’s dog. That classification had once applied to Alexi, as had the title Love of Natasha’s Life.

  
They had met in Moscow, when she was just a teenager, easily caught by his charm, and drawn in by the promise of a storybook romance. They had been brilliant together, the beautiful ballerina everyone knew was going to be a star, escorted by the dashing heir to a business and a fortune. Then Natasha had gotten dragged unwittingly into unpleasantness of the criminal variety by her foster father Ivan, and Alexi’s family decided the pair were through. When Alexi refused to fight for her, Natasha had handled it about as well as a heartbroken heroine of a storybook romance. That is to say, she quit ballet and became more deeply entrenched in the seedy underbelly of Moscow, earning just as big of a reputation with her fists and her wits as she had with her elegance and Pointe shoes. It had taken the combined efforts of Clint, James, and Kate to get her out of Moscow and back into civilian life. Still, Alexi held a part of her heart the way lovers always do, so she shook her head to disagree with the murder plan.

  
“Nobody is killing Alexi.” Even she could hear the resignation in her voice.

  
“That’s not what I meant anyway,” Kate pointed out, drawing everyone’s attention back to her apparently extant plan.

  
“Why is Alexi even a problem?” James asked. Natasha burrowed further into his chest, waving at Kate to continue. She knew she should’ve waited for everyone to arrive before telling the story if she didn’t want to have to repeat herself, but James had been working and Kate had refused to share the vodka until Natasha spilled her reason for calling an emergency drinking session. Kate gladly took up the story.

  
“You know that fancy retreat conference thing for Tasha’s work?” James nodded, since the conference had been mentioned at least once a day since the group had found out about it two weeks ago. Enforcement and Logistics, where Natasha worked, typically sent their employees on teambuilding retreats outside of the city once a year. This year, the retreat was being held at a resort in Upstate New York, so E&L employees were basically being treated to a week-long vacation, and the company’s focus on employees having a good work-life balance meant they were encouraging the attendance of a guest, also free. Upon hearing that, Clint and Kate had immediately started lobbying for the Natasha’s guest ticket. Clint was her best friend, and Kate was like a little sister, but Natasha had been hoping James would ask to go. It would be good for him to get away for a week, and she certainly wouldn’t say no to sharing a room with a vacation-relaxed James. But of course, he hadn’t even considered that she might want to take him.

  
“She found out Alexi’s gonna be there to represent Red Guardian, since he’s on the board of directors now,” Kate continued, explaining much more succinctly than Natasha could have managed. “E&L invited him to do some kind of speech or something.”  
“She’s afraid he’s gonna bring some hot new wife and be all assholeish to her.” Clint chimed in. “But she has to go, or her boss will hate her.”

  
“And killing Alexi was the best solution you came up with?” James drawled. “Real brain trust here, I tell ya.”

  
“I have a better plan!” Kate whined, clearly impatient to be lauded for her brilliance. The fact that she was rather younger than the other three was most apparent when she had been drinking.

  
“Tell us your plan, Katie-Kate,” Clint offered soothingly. “We’re listening.”

  
“James should go with you!” Kate’s natural flair for the dramatic made her pose and smile like a vaudeville actor, though her only reception was both men making startled noises of protest.

  
“Why does he get to go on the fancy work vacation?” Clint demanded at the same time James asked “How would that possibly help?”

  
“You could be her much better, new Alexi, duh,” Kate said, settling back into the couch with the last slice of pizza.

  
“New Alexi?” Natasha murmured. The tiny portion of her brain still devoted to rational thought was screaming a litany of why this was a bad idea, but the rest of her was in complete agreement. A chance to take James on vacation, a chance to pretend to be his girlfriend-his lover, even!-and a subtle act of revenge on the man who had so thoroughly disrupted her life? “I like it. James, you’re coming with me.”

  
“Natalia, no. You don’t want that,” he protested. “You want to look good, you don’t want a fucked up amputee office temp on your arm. Take Barton.”

  
“Yeah, take Barton!”

  
“Shut up, Barton.”

  
“Bite me, Bishop!”

  
As Kate and Clint descended into sibling squabbles, Natasha dredged up the energy to focus on James. Ever since losing his arm, he had lacked any confidence in himself, no matter what evidence his friends could present to the contrary.

  
“ _You’re more than your job, or your number of limbs_ ” she told him, sliding into Russian to better convey her thoughts through the vodka haze. “ _You clean up beautifully. I would be proud to stand next to you._ ”

  
“Are you telling him why he’s dumb for saying you don’t want to take him?” Kate asked, looking up from her and Clint’s play slap-fight.

  
“I ain’t exactly anything to make some billionaire jealous over,” James protested.

  
“It’s not about your job, dummy,” Kate huffed, clearly feeling that her genius was underappreciated. “It’s about being so sickeningly in love with Tasha and her being deliriously happy so everyone hates how cute you are and Alexi feels bad for never making anyone that happy in his pathetic life.”

  
“Yeah, you can easily pretend you’re in love, right Tash?” Clint asked with a cheeky grin. Natasha swatted him on the head for teasing-he was the only one who knew she harbored more-that-friendly feelings for James, having witnessed her one frustrated meltdown on the subject.

  
“It’ll really help Tasha if you go.” Kate was full-strength puppy dog pouting at James over Natasha’s head, and she could tell it was getting to him. He was an absolute teddy bear about helping any of his friends.

  
“ _Do you really want this?_ ” he murmured into her hair, and Natasha nodded without hesitation. Kate squealed gleefully at their acceptance of her plan, and Natasha allowed herself to begin drifting off, promising internally to rethink everything when she was sober.  
*  
*  
*  
Natasha woke up in her own bed, hungover and looking at a glass of water and a note on her nightstand. In Kate’s loopy scrawl, the scrap paper read “Called your VP/trip manager last night. James is officially your vaca buddy -xoxo Kate + Clint”  
Well, that settled that.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“If that man tries to set me up with one more random female, I swear I’m going to hang him from a flagpole. Where does he even find these women?”

  
Sam looked up and quirked a grin at his best friend, the source of the angry outburst. Steve slumped into the chair across from Sam’s desk and glared at him.

  
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused. “Why are you enjoying this? You’re supposed to be on my side!” Sam immediately sat up straight on the edge of his chair, hands folded primly on his desk.

  
“Mr. Rogers, I understand you have complaint?” He used his best ‘customer service’ voice, the one Steve said sounded like an automated telephone menu.

  
“Well, now I have two,” Steve griped. “One, Coulson won’t stop trying to set me up with his cousins and nieces and that one aunt he has. Two, my best friend is an absolutely unsympathetic ass.”

  
Sam had to grin at that, loving how thoroughly Steve shed his professional attitude the minute he stepped into Sam’s office. Steve had a reputation around the office for being a model gentleman, infallibly polite and moral. Sam had been shocked to discover that once Steve got comfortable around someone, he was unapologetically sarcastic and approximately 300 times more fun than anyone at work ever got to see.

  
“Why is Coulson so set on hooking you up, anyway?” he asked, reverting to his normal voice and posture. “Is it some kind of sublimation, since he won’t date you himself?”

  
“I don’t even know,” Steve admitted mournfully. “It’s like he expects me to find a wife and have 2.4 kids and embody the American Dream for everyone. Maybe I should tell him I’m a socialist.”

  
“You’d break the poor man’s heart,” Sam chastised. Phil Coulson, vice president of E&L, was a pleasant and exceedingly competent man, but had for some reason idolized Steve ever since the younger man had started at the company. It was a harmless sort of favoritism, in that the only benefits were completely non work related – Coulson authorized a switch to better coffee for the break rooms on Steve’s suggestion, and always asked Steve’s opinion on potential company outings. In all professional matters, Coulson was unfailingly professional and wouldn’t favor Steve for projects or promotions unless Steve was legitimately the best for the job. Steve generally bore the whole dynamic with good humor, except for Coulson’s relatively recent fixation with finding Steve a date.

  
“He wants me to take his niece on the company retreat,” Steve groaned, slumping to hide his face in his hands. Sam was momentarily offended that such a well-built man could be so cute.

  
“Did you tell him you’re going with me?” Sam asked. The pair had been attending company events as a stag pair for the last two years, ever since Sam’s last breakup.

  
“I did.” Steve sat up suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh. No. Shit shit shit.”

  
“What?” Sam was immediately alarmed. Steve looked almost shell shocked.

  
“Sam. Sam, I might have fucked up.”

  
“What did you do?” Sam demanded.

  
“I told him we were going together and he said some things I didn’t think made sense but now they make much more sense because I think he thinks we’re going as more than friends,” Steve blurted out, all in one breath. Sam was silent for a moment, then cracked up laughing.

  
“Aww, no way!” The pair were frequently called ‘work husbands’ anyway, given the way they stuck together at any and all company social events. “Does Coulson think we’re dating?”

  
“I don’t know. Maybe?” Steve, the poor white boy, was blushing hard. Sam laughed some more.

  
“Well, at least now he’ll stop pushing dates on you.”

  
“I’ll go tell him right now, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even thinking,” Steve almost tripped over his chair, trying to get out of it and leave the office. He was only ever clumsy when he was flustered.

  
“Hey, whoa, calm down,” Sam ordered, ignoring the twinge at how anxious Steve seemed at the thought of them dating. He never seemed uncomfortable to be called Sam’s work husband, and their playful back-and-forth frequently crossed over into flirting, but clearly it was only okay when it was a joke. Before Sam could get too disappointed, though, Steve yet again proved he was worth Sam’s admiration.

  
“I don’t want him to tell everyone and ruin your chances with that girl from accounting you keep flirting with,” the blonde explained.

  
“Does Coulson really seem like the type to gossip?” Sam asked, a plan forming. Steve shook his head, so Sam continued. “Why don’t we not correct him? We don’t have to tell anyone anything – we’re already going together. And if we aren’t too couple-y, we’re being professional. And if we are friendly, it’ll seem like normal to everyone, and Coulson can just think he’s in on a secret.”

  
Steve was staring at him again, those blue eyes wide in wonderment.

  
“You really don’t mind?” he asked, tentative, then slid around the desk to drag Sam out of his chair and into a hug. “You’re the best!”

  
“Hey, man, what are friends for?” Sam wheezed. Steve had a bad habit of hugging like he wasn’t built like a tank. Resolutely assuring himself that they would act normally and nothing bad would happen, Sam settled back to his work once Steve left.  
He was interrupted again, close to the end of the day, by a soft knock on his doorframe. Coulson himself stood in the door, almost glaring at Sam.

  
“I heard,” he said flatly. Sam just smiled pleasantly at the man. He had been working in HR long enough that his pleasant smile was damn near bulletproof. Coulson turned abruptly, but Sam heard the “congratulations” he tossed over his shoulder as he left. Laughing to himself, Sam pulled up an email chain he had been keeping with a friend since starting at E&L. Amanda would definitely appreciate this story.

  
The subject line of the email chain read ‘This company is SO STRANGE.’


	2. Nothing Makes Friends Like Road Trips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Sam, Natasha and James drive to the conference.

Steve Rogers liked to think he was aware of his major personal flaws. He had a temper; he was had trouble finding a happy medium between being bitingly sarcastic or dead serious; a childhood of illness interspersed with fights and nearly devoid of friends made him extremely slow to connect with anyone now that he was a (very well formed) adult. Still, he had to disagree with the flaw his coworker and best friend was determined to add to the list.

  
“I’m telling you, man, no one is this much of a morning person,” Sam insisted.

  
“You’re a morning person too!” Steve protested. “Why is it okay when you do it?”

  
“Hey, just because I’m awake doesn’t mean I like it.”

  
“Are you kidding me? Our entire friendship is literally built around being the only two people willing to wake up early enough to run before work.”

  
“Steve, man, I hate to be the one to have to tell you this,” Sam’s suddenly serious tone actually made Steve look over at him for a moment, mildly concerned. At the blonde’s quizzical eyebrow, Sam continued. “Our entire friendship is actually based on the fact that you are a colossal asshole.”

  
Steve’s expression, a mix of surprise and indignation, made Sam howl with laughter.

  
“How does that even make sense?” Steve demanded. “We’re friends because we’re running buddies.”

  
“Yeah, because I’m the only one who can stand your tiny ass lapping me with all those damn comments you can’t keep to yourself,” Sam countered, then added sanctimoniously “you’re lucky I’m so forgiving.”

  
“I wouldn’t lap you so much if you weren’t so slow,” Steve pointed out, the familiar teasing coming naturally. “Besides. I have an amazing ass. You’re lucky you get to watch it go by so often.”

  
There was some truth in Sam’s comments-they had been friendly at work, which had given Steve the courage to be increasingly obnoxious when he saw Sam out for a run. They had become workout buddies first, and Sam-who apparently got all the social grace Steve missed out on-had somehow managed their transition into real friendship. Steve was especially grateful for him during these weeklong retreats, because the idea of having to be social for so long with his coworkers was terrifying. With Sam to cling to, the thought was only exhausting.

  
Sam was still laughing heartily as Steve pulled the car up to the curb where Natasha was waiting, being leaned on heavily by a tall man Steve didn’t know. Natasha had overheard them planning a road trip, and when Sam invited her along, she had surprised both of them by saying yes. The three were certainly pleasantly cordial at work, but Steve had never really considered the redhead a friend, and her date was a complete unknown.

  
The stranger had his arms around Natasha’s waist and was quite possibly only standing because of her support. His face was buried in her shoulder, long brown hair masking his face, and the only sign that he was awake was the death grip he had on his coffee mug. Natasha, as always, looked perfectly put-together and in control of not only the immediate situation, but also the entire world. She smiled crookedly as Sam and Steve got out of the car to help load her bags.

  
“What’s so funny, boys?” Before Steve could say anything, Sam blurted out “Steve’s ass.”

  
One of Natasha’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose, and Steve could feel his fair skin turning pink. He and Natasha got along well, and were a powerhouse team at work, but they had never been anywhere close to as friendly as he and Sam were. Then again, he was pretty sure the ‘work husbands’ rumor had started due to his and Sam’s borderline flirty banter.

  
“Don’t worry Steve,” she told him solicitously. “I’d never laugh at an ass like yours. Unlike Wilson here, I can appreciate art.” Sam laughed even harder, and Steve was sure he was completely red now.

  
“So, who’s your backpack?” he asked, a desperate and blatant subject change. Natasha graciously allowed it, nudging the man with the shoulder his face was on.

  
“Jamie, wake up,” she murmured. He nuzzled into her neck, clearly protesting, and she continued on in Russian. The man grumbled and looked up blearily. His eyes widened as he took in Sam and Steve, and whatever his reply was made Natasha snort a surprised laugh.

  
“Gentleman, this is my plus one, James. Jamie, my coworkers and our ride, Sam and Steve.” James leaned closer to Natasha to shake the other men’s hands as Natasha introduced them, and he smiled a little ruefully.

  
“It’s nice to meet you. Sorry I’m not quite awake-late night.”

  
“No worries, man,” Sam said easily. “We can’t all be morning people.” He said the last two words as an imprecation, with a glare at Steve.

  
“This again?” the blonde sighed dramatically. “No, it’s fine, just keep pretending you don’t wake up just as early as I do.”

Maintaining the put-upon demeanor, he started loading Natasha and James’s things into the car.

  
“Oh, hey, let me help,” James said, passing his coffee to Natasha.

  
“Nah, I’ve got it,” Steve insisted, trying not to notice how cute he found this sleep-rumpled stranger. This sleep-rumpled stranger who is apparently dating his coworker. Right. Steve focused on getting everyone into the car and starting the trip.

  
“So I made some road trip mixes,” Sam started almost as soon as Steve put the car in drive. Steve groaned.

  
“Sam, no, we talked about this. 90s nostalgia is not the same for everyone.”

  
“90s nostalgia? That’s what counts as road trip music in America?” Natasha piped up from the back. She rarely even had a trace of an accent, so it was easy to forget that she had lived in Russia more than twice as long as she had lived in the States.

  
“Anything that gets everyone pumped up and singing along is road trip music,” Sam declared, and James slumped over onto Natasha.

  
“You really are a morning person, too” he accused. Steve and Natasha chuckled, and Sam laughed again.

  
“Nah, I just skipped my run this morning. Got all this excess energy!”

  
“Right, you two are running buddies,” Natasha mentioned. “So why isn’t Steve hyper?”

  
“Because Steve is an adult who can moderate his energy levels,” Steve snarked. “Also, I went for a run.”

  
James murmured something to Natasha in Russian, and she huffed a laugh before translating it.

  
“If you already went for a run and are this early to pick us up, you’re not a morning person. Jury is out on even human, at this point.”

  
“’Talia, no,” James protested quietly, then met Steve’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “’m sorry, ‘m an asshole in the morning…”  
“That’s fine, I’m not going to be offended,” Steve reassured him with a small laugh. Then, because he could never resist taking a dig at Sam, he added “Anyway, apparently I’m an asshole all the time.”

  
Sam grinned unrepentantly and pressed play on his road trip mix. NPR’s Morning Edition was supplanted by the Space Jam theme, and Steve cracked up. James smirked tiredly, but Natasha looked confused. Sam happily started singing along. Steve made a passing comment about Michael Jordan’s baseball career and was thrilled when James turned out to also be an enthusiastic baseball fan. The two happily talked ball until the car made it out of the city. Natasha and Sam had gotten bored approximately three words in, and were having their own conversation on the other side of the car, mostly involving him trying to explain the cultural significance of basketball playing Martians. Sam was turned in the passenger seat so he was facing Natasha, who sat behind him, while James leaned forward to talk close to Steve’s ear. Steve was enjoying the baseball conversation so much he almost forgot to be uncomfortable with two relative strangers.

  
Three hours into the trip, Steve pulled into a rest station and everyone piled out of the car. They all stretched and groaned as if they had been cramped into something much smaller than Steve’s rented SUV, and Natasha asked James something in Russian as they started moving towards the restrooms. His response was clearly sarcastic, and her short reply was most likely a rude name. James sighed theatrically, then suddenly snaked out his right arm and looped it around her waist to reel her in. Natasha, always practically stoic and brimming with professionalism, squeaked. At the sound, Sam and Steve shared identical satisfied grins.

  
“James,” the redhead warned, but James just pulled her tighter. With a wink at the other men, he darted his head in and blew a raspberry on Natasha’s neck. She shrieked in surprise, squirming out of his grip, and he grinned wolfishly at her.

  
“Just remember, we’re sharing a room all week,” she said threateningly. James seemed unruffled, sauntering towards the bathrooms.

  
“Trust me, doll, I got no objections to you keepin’ me awake.” Rather than the snappy comeback Steve expected, though, Natasha smiled inscrutably and silently veered off towards the ladies room.

  
“They’re cute together,” Sam said offhandedly. “She seems happy.”

  
Steve nodded. It was nice to see this more relaxed Natasha, like she trusted him and Sam with this non-work side of herself. Steve idly wondered if he seemed different to her as well. He and Sam were a firmly established pair around the office, but Natasha tended to be much more isolated. She had never seemed inclined to do anything outside of work with anyone from the office-but then, Steve realized, it was possible she was just waiting for someone to ask. He was suddenly extra glad she had decided to join them on their drive.

  
Sam took over driving once they got on the road, arguing that he should get to pick the music since he was driving. Steve strongly contended that shotgun should get to pick, as is traditional, not to mention what they had apparently been doing when Sam was sitting shotgun. James and Natasha seemed content to listen, settling in together like only long-standing couples can. Natasha’s fingers toyed with James’s long hair as he rested against her and appeared to drift off. Steve was honest enough to admit to himself that he was jealous, but refused to examine exactly what-or who-he was wishing for.

  
Natasha eventually intervened by demanding to hook her iPod up to the car speakers, threatening to play nothing but Russian ballads if the two of them couldn’t agree on at least a genre. They settled on her “Background Music” playlist, which lived up to its name by being pleasant but completely unmemorable. They passed the time playing an increasingly complicated version of the license plate game that eventually devolved into an argument about the validity of rules Natasha swore were common in the version she played in Russia as a child.

  
“We gotta get some verification on these rules,” Sam insisted when Natasha said green cars only counted if you were wearing green underwear. “Wake your boy up, and no telling him he has to agree with you!”

  
James grumbled and scrubbed a hand across his face when Natasha nudged him, but Sam cut her off before she could say anything.

  
“No secret Russian instructions!” he called out. “James, does it matter what color my underwear are?” James blinked slowly, brow slightly furrowed as he formulated a response.

  
“I guess that depends what Steve likes, and what you feel good wearing?” he finally offered. The car was silent for a moment, then the three who hadn’t been sleeping burst into laughter. James smiled a little bemusedly, sitting up fully and trying to fix his hair.

  
“Let me, sweetheart,” Natasha murmured, batting his hand away and taking over. “And Sam was asking about the rules of the Russian license plate game, not your opinion on his and Steve’s private life.”

  
“Why would I know the Russian license plate game?” he asked, leaning into her touch like a cat.

  
“Aren’t you Russian, too?” Sam asked, genuinely surprised. The language had seemed to come to James and Natasha with equal ease.

  
“Not even a little,” James said with a lazy smile.

  
“Shit, man, you sounded native,” Sam blurted out. Steve was mildly delighted to see his normally smooth friend make a social gaffe, small as it was. Natasha laughed.

  
“James is as American as apple pie,” she said fondly. “We used to call him the American.”

  
“That’s understandable,” Steve deadpanned. “James is a terribly hard name to remember.” The man in question nodded solemnly.

  
“If only my parents had named me something simple. Alas, I’ll forever be nicknamed.”

  
“Seriously, though, was he the only American you knew?” Sam had recovered from his surprise and was back in teasing mode, as usual.

  
“Nah, that was just the politest word anyone called me,” James drawled, and Natasha snorted.

  
“That actually might be true,” she admitted. “I don’t think I even learned your name for months. I could just tell who everyone was talking about by their tone.”

  
“Natalia, you’ll scare our new friends,” James whined overdramatically. Sam laughed, but Steve’s smile had less to do with the joke and more to do with the thought that these two would consider him a friend. Then he thought about how ridiculous it was for a 30 year old man to be so excited about making friends, and internally winced at how much he had isolated himself-not entirely intentionally. This retreat seemed like a good time to try and rectify that.

  
“So, tell us more about you,” he demanded, then immediately wanted to clap a hand over his mouth for how awkward that came out. Great way to make friends, Rogers, be as weird and borderline creepy as possible. In an attempt to salvage his comment, he tacked on “I mean, like, how you two met.”

  
The pair shared a look that contained an entire conversation in seconds, smiled softly at each other, and turned back to face the front in almost eerie unison. Natasha twined their fingers together in her lap and told the story in a fonder tone than Steve had ever heard her use.

  
“I used to be a ballerina, in Russia, and I got injured and had to stop dancing.” Sam and Steve shared a surprised look at this previously unknown bit of trivia about the woman they’d been working with for a couple years, and Steve got yet another sense of just how little Natasha had ever shown of herself at work. She continued as if she hadn’t noticed their glance.  
“I was young and heartbroken, so I got in trouble the way the young and heartbroken do. James saved me.”

  
“That’s way overselling it,” James said flatly. “We met at a bar, we liked each other, things happened.”

  
“That’s underselling it!” Natasha protested. “And absolutely not romantic. Also, it was outside the bar, not in it.”

  
“What’s so romantic about a back alley brawl?” James asked, and Sam interjected.

  
“Whoa, hold up, you two met fighting behind a bar?” They both nodded, and Sam grinned widely. “That is amazing. Who was fighting? Or were you fighting each other? Come on, you gotta elaborate on that.”

  
“Some idiots were harassing me, and I was taking care of it when this drunken American comes barreling out of nowhere and takes them all out.” Natasha’s tone was flat, but she was smiling fondly at her boyfriend.

  
“I was just looking to fight someone, and seven on one seemed like cheating,” James admitted, then added with a wolfish grin. “Also, she was wicked hot.”

  
“I’ve gotten into fights for worse reasons,” Steve offered, and Natasha stared at him.

  
“You’ve gotten into fights?” she demanded. The blonde winced, remembering that Natasha really only knew him by his goody-two-shoes work reputation. Sam, who had gotten to know him better outside of work-and witnessed him face down drunken bullies on a few occasions-just chuckled.

  
“My boy here could start a fight in an empty room,” he said, but with an odd sort of affection that warmed Steve to his core. “He could win it, too.”

  
“Does Coulson know his Boy Scout fights?” Natasha teased with a smirk. She added on, presumably for James’s benefit, “Coulson is the company VP. He adores Steve.”

  
“I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts,” Steve felt compelled to point out, and Natasha’s grin grew.

  
“It’s like you’re this whole new person. A sassy person. I like it.”

  
“How did you get kicked out of Boy Scouts?” James demanded, possibly a little too intently. Steve immediately braced for a fight. Natasha didn’t seem like the type to date someone who would have a problem with homosexuality, but old habits had him on edge just the same.

  
“They aren’t a fan of gay rights, so much. And I’m not a fan of inequality.” He knew he had what Sam called his “mule face” on, but James just nodded absently, then shook his head as if to clear it.

  
“What about you two?” The subject change was about as graceful as a panda on a playground slide, but Sam, social genius that he was, took it anyway.

  
“We live near each other, and run in the mornings. When we figured out we work together, this asshole” he backhanded Steve playfully on the arm “decided we should be running buddies.”

  
“You’re welcome,” Steve said magnanimously, and the other three all chuckled. The conversation stayed light after that, mild gossip about the people who would be on the retreat, lowkey plans in case of prank wars, and five separate attempts by Natasha to revive the license plate game. As they approached the resort, Steve felt much less nervous than he had expected. He had figured he would spend the week clinging to Sam and anxious about all the new people, but he was getting surprisingly comfortable with Natasha and James as well. Maybe this retreat would actually serve its intended purpose, and gain him some lasting friendships. For once in his life, Steve was looking forward to a week of enforced social activity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to be completely honest, I have no idea what I'm doing on this site. Hence the multi-chapter dump all on one day. There's no planned update schedule for this fic, other than a vague plan to get it done before school starts at the end of August. But, yanno, if you like it, please comment, or whatever.


	3. Sam Wilson is an Adult Who Behaves Responsibly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson winks, a challenge is issued, and Sam absolutely refuses to believe that anything will get out of hand, ever.

“I swear, it was unnatural! The man’s face is not designed for winking!” Natasha and James were chuckling, but Steve was outright cackling at Sam’s indignant disbelief. Phil Coulson, practically the real life equivalent of Spock, had seen Sam put his hand on Steve’s lower back to guide him forward in the reception line. And then Phil Coulson, straight-laced model of professionalism and decorum, had looked Sam directly in the eye. Phil Coulson, the embodiment of business ettiquitte, had winked. Sam was concerned he had quite literally felt the world shift a little.

  
“What room are you going to?” Natasha asked, interrupting Sam’s rant. They had all gotten out of the stairwell at the same floor, but until this point his outburst had prevented conversation.

  
“We’re in 377,” Steve supplied, checking the key cards, then the door numbers. “Oh, we’re right here.” He made a happy little noise as he tried the card in the door and the access light went green. Sam was once again disgruntled by how offensively adorable Steve could be, and the look on Natasha’s face seemed to indicate a similar sentiment.

  
“We’re neighbors,” James announced, putting his own key in the door to 375. “And the rooms are joined!” They entered their respective rooms, which were indeed connected by a door in their shared wall. Sam unlocked his and Steve’s side after hearing the click of the other side unlocking. Natasha opened the door and stepped in, looking around openly.

  
“This is cozy,” she said with a smirk.

  
“What, like your room isn’t exactly the same?” Sam demanded, looking over her shoulder to see into the other room. James was moving around the bed to set a few things on the nightstand. The one, king sized bed. In the room that was identical to Sam and Steve’s.

  
Sam turned around slowly, but there was no avoiding the fact he had failed to notice upon entering. There was only one bed in his and Steve’s room, too. Steve was calmly settling in, apparently unbothered by the thought of sharing a bed with Sam for a week. Well, fine, Sam could be an adult too. Yeah, they were both grownups. Nothing wrong with two friends sharing a king sized bed for a week. No matter how ridiculously attractive one of those friends may be.

  
Behave, Wilson! he ordered himself, then set about acting as natural as possible. He and Steve hadn’t discussed what they were telling Natasha and James about their relationship, so he figured playing it cool was his best bet.

  
“So we only have the one activity today,” Steve announced, having read the schedule from his welcome packet. It wasn’t hard to see how he got his Boy Scout reputation. “There’s a ‘casual mixer with appetizers’ in the ballroom on the first floor in about twenty minutes. We really did get here just in time.”

  
“What does that even mean, ‘casual mixer?’” James demanded, joining Sam in the doorway between the rooms. “Do I have to change?”

  
Natasha looked him over and quickly decided.

  
“Just your shirt. You too, Steve. Sam, you look fine, just change your shoes.” Sam and Steve shared a mildly aggrieved look at the surprise instructions, and James chuckled at them.

  
“Sorry, did you not realize Natalia is in charge of everything?” he mocked. Steve smirked, but was rummaging around for a new shirt.

  
“I was gonna change my shoes anyway,” Sam informed Natasha. She patted his cheek as she walked back into her own room.

  
“I know you were, honey,” she said sweetly. Sam grumbled, but went to get nicer shoes from his bag. He really hadn’t been planning on wearing his grungy comfy shoes to the mixer.

  
They never got around to closing the door between their rooms, keeping up a light chatter as they got settled in and ready for the first event. By the time they reconvened in the hall, Natasha’s hair had come down from its messy bun, her hoodie and sneakers had been replaced with a simple lacy black top and sandals, and her makeup had been touched up so her naturally pretty face was downright stunning. In short, she looked miles better than the three men, but still effortlessly casual.

  
To be fair, though, James and Steve both looked almost as good. James had his long hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and he had traded his clearly comfortable Henley for a flattering long sleeve button-up with the top two buttons undone. His jeans were doing an astonishing number of favors for his ass and thighs, to the point that Sam thought it would be rude to not at least acknowledge how amazing the man looked. Steve's jeans were equally flattering, and the blue polo he had selected gave his eyes an almost unearthly quality. His artfully tousled hair made Sam's fingers itch to either tidy it or mess it up irreparably.

  
"Sam, I don't wanna do this," Steve muttered as the group headed for the stairwell.

  
"Don't want to do what?" Sam asked, instantly worried. Was Coulson's winking too much? Was it the bed? Was it Sam himself? Had he somehow acted differently than he usually did, and tipped Steve off? Steve's reply put him instantly at ease.

  
"I just really hate being social," the blonde confessed. "Sorry, I'm whining. It's stupid, I'll be fine."

  
"Hey, man, I get it," Sam told him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Just stick with us, you'll be fine." James and Natasha were walking ahead of them, talking quietly in Russian, but Natasha seemed to hear Sam. She looked back with a reassuring smile.

  
"Just remember, you're with friends," she ordered. "And if you get too uncomfortable, James will cause a scene so you can make an escape."

  
"I'm great at causing scenes," James offered. "Knock some tables over, break a light fixture, set someone's hair on fire..."

  
"Bring a dog to a wedding reception?" Natasha asked, and they both laughed.

  
"Our friend, Clint," James explained, noting Sam and Steve's confusion. "He's done all of those things. He's amazing."  
Steve had relaxed a little at their laughter, loosening up enough to smile along.

  
"You really will be fine, though." Sam nudged Steve's elbow with his own, knowing how much the other man struggled with large groups sometimes.

  
"I know," Steve huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll be fine. It's never as bad as I think it will be. At least Coulson won't be asking about my personal life."

  
"You're welcome," Sam said grandly, shamelessly imitating Steve at his sassiest. It got a grin from all three companions.

  
"I know you've been suffering terribly," Steve retorted drily.

  
"Having to see Coulson wink," James interjected in the same tone. "You poor dear." Natasha grinned like a shark.

  
"Oh, he's just happy to have his golden boy taken care of," she told them.

  
"He could've expressed that without winking," Sam informed them sniffily. Steve made a slight 'aha' noise.

  
"He was probably the one who set us up in that single-bed room," he blurted. At least Sam knew he wasn't going crazy-they had been planning on getting separate beds.

  
"Were you not going to share?" James asked, tilting his head a bit like a curious puppy.

  
"We signed up to come as friends," Sam interjected before Steve could try to come up with a cover. Steve was basically terrible when put on the spot. Sidling a little closer to his 'boyfriend,' Sam shyly added, "Coming together was a more recent development."

  
Steve edged a bit closer as well, loosening the knot in Sam's chest-he'd been worried he had blown it, for a second there. But Steve seemed perfectly content to perpetuate the boyfriend image. Well, Samuel Wilson had never been one to let an opportunity pass.

  
"We should probably thank him, babe," he said cheekily, linking his hand loosely with Steve's. Before the blond could reply, Natasha jumped in.

  
"Bet you each $20 you can't make him blush," she challenged. Steve instantly stood a little straighter, constitutionally incapable of resisting a test.

  
"Oh, that's definitely happening," he vowed, gripping Sam's hand a bit tighter. Sam grinned, always on board for Steve's ridiculous and frequently terrible schemes.

  
"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go mingle."


	4. James Barnes adores his best friend, and also can totally handle social situations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous Alexi appears! Natasha has no time for his shit, and Steve is a socially awkward puppy.

" _Relax, sweetheart_ ," Natasha murmured in Russian.

  
" _I am relaxed_ ," he sniped back. " _What possible reason do I have to not be relaxed?_ "

  
He was trying his best to at least look relaxed, instead of like he had stayed up all night panicking about the upcoming week. Despite what his friends had said about him being an excellent date, he felt barely adequate, especially for someone as amazing as Natasha. There was only so much he could do about his personality, and he was going to let Natasha dress him up however she determined looked best (the woman had a definite eye for style), but he'd be damned if he drew attention to the fact that he was an amputee. To that end, he had tucked the mostly useless hand of his prosthetic into his jeans pocket, aiming for 'slouchy casual.' As an added bonus, the pocket relieved some of the weight of the arm, and James could use all the relief he could get after the stiffness caused by the car ride. He had been hoping for a chance to adjust his prosthetic in the hotel room, but the adjoining door had been open the entire time. While he already liked Sam and Steve far more than he had expected to when Natasha announced that they would be road tripping together, James was not nearly comfortable letting them see him without a shirt, let alone a limb. He had changed in the bathroom, but didn't want to ask Natasha to come in and help him fix his arm, since he couldn't think of a non-eyebrow-raising way to do so.

  
Still, apparently Natasha disapproved of his 'slouchy casual' look. She snagged his fake limb from his pocket, tucked herself into the crook of the elbow, and hooked the thumb onto the far belt loop of her jeans. Catching sight of their reflection as they exited the stairs, James was impressed by how much they looked like any casually affectionate couple, especially when Natasha wound her own arm around his waist. The fake skin on his prosthetic was realistic enough to stand up to passing glances, and Natasha was, as usual, pretty enough to distract from anything else.

  
" _We look good, doll_ ," he told her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. She smiled back at him so warmly his heart lurched, until he remembered what exactly they were trying to do here. He made sure his answering smile was equally adoring.

  
"Stop, you two. The cutest couple contest isn't until Wednesday," Sam teased. Natasha stuck her tongue out at him, juvenile in the way she usually only was around Clint. James had enjoyed seeing her get increasingly comfortable with her work friends over the course of the drive, and he was surprised by how much he liked the pair as well. It generally took him awhile to warm up to strangers, but it helped that Sam and Steve were fun, friendly, and incredibly attractive. When Natasha had woken him to introduce them, his first response had been "does your company have a policy against hiring ugly people?" He was glad Natasha had chosen not to translate that. And Steve... well, the less James thought about Steve, the better. He was here to support Natasha, not moon over how much her coworker resembled his long-gone childhood friend. They even had the same name, but the Steve James remembered was a tiny, sickly, constantly angry punk. This giant Steve might have similar eyes and a bad history with the Boy Scouts, but there was no way he was the same guy. James had adamantly refused to look for any more similarities, and purposefully kept the conversation away from personal details about anyone.

  
"Don't be jealous that my boyfriend is cuter than yours, Wilson," Natasha taunted, reeling James in even closer. Steve blushed a little, and Sam's eyebrows arched.

  
"Oh, is that how it is, Romanov?" he demanded. "You want to do the boyfriend contest? Because we will be so cute your teeth fall out." He wrapped an arm around Steve's neck and hauled the taller man closer, except the unexpected move made Steve trip and knock Sam into the wall. Sam, of course, rolled with it.

  
"Babe, not here," he stage whispered, and Steve turned even redder.

  
"It's okay, Steve," James offered solicitously. "I'd want to tackle him too."

  
"I hate all of you and I'm going back to my room," Steve declared, actually going so far as to turn toward the stairs before Natasha snagged his sleeve.

  
"You can't leave, Steve. You have a sarcastic commentary quota to fill." Steve heaved a huge sigh.

  
"Let it never be said I've shirked in my duties," he announced solemnly. The four entered the ballroom giggling like children. James was having so much fun he almost forgot to keep an eye out for Alexi, so he almost missed the exact second Natasha caught sight of her former lover. She tensed almost imperceptibly, then leaned into James like she needed the support.

  
"I'm gonna go say hi to the rest of my team," Sam decided, veering towards the small cluster of HR employees. Steve hovered for a moment, clearly unsure where to go and uncomfortable because of it. Natasha tugged on his sleeve again.

  
"Stick with us," she offered, and he relaxed visibly. She didn't though, and James realized why as soon as he noticed a pair of men winding through the crowd, clearly heading for them. The shorter man was wearing a suit despite the purported 'casual' atmosphere of the mixer, and the other looked like he had stepped of the pages of the type of magazine that never listed prices next to its clothing items, because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.

  
"So, what are our odds in the cutest couple contest?" James asked Steve, cuddling Natasha close again. Steve chuffed a laugh.

  
"That's not actually a thing," he replied, but James had just wanted a pretense to be as affectionate as possible. As a bonus, the three of them were laughing when the two men reached them.

  
"Steve, Natasha!" the suited man interrupted, clearly pleased to see them. "And James, I presume?" James nodded and extended his free hand as the man introduced himself. "Phil Coulson, VP of E&L. Pleasure to meet you."

  
"Pleasure's mine," James said with his most charming smile. "I've heard a lot about you." Coulson seemed pleased with the idea that his employees discussed him, apparently not even considering the possibility that it would be unfavorable.

  
“It’s always nice to meet my employees’ friends and family,” he said. “And Steve, Natasha, I wanted to introduce my best and brightest to our keynote speaker for the week, Alexi Shostakov.”

  
Ah, the infamous Alexi. James had heard most of Natasha’s stories about the man, when she was in varying stages of drunkenness. Still, she had asked him not to act like he knew anything about the other man, so he settled for sizing him up silently.

  
Shostakov was handsome, with a classically strong jaw and full, well-styled hair. His shoes probably cost more than everything James owned, and his watch definitely did. Still, James reminded himself, there was one thing Shostakov didn’t have- Natasha’s friendship. Her regard was certainly worth more than some fancy clothes.

  
“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve was saying, shaking the man’s hand, every inch the polite professional. James had gotten the idea that Steve hid behind formality when he was uncomfortable. Alexi smiled cordially at the taller man, then turned his focus to Natasha, completely ignoring James.

  
“ _Natalia, my dear_ ,” he practically purred. “ _It has been too long._ ”

  
“ _Has it?_ ” she replied coolly. “ _I hadn't noticed.”_ James refused to laugh at her casual disinterest, or the way Alexi’s eyes widened in surprise. If he had been expecting the same infatuated girl he had last seen, he was in for a rough awakening.

  
Coulson had drawn Steve into a separate, English conversation, and Alexi shifted to be block them out, clearly hoping he and Natasha were having a private dialogue. James decided to wait quietly until Natasha wanted to reveal his Russian comprehension. She was positively dangerous like this, he knew, and her flair for the dramatic meant that his main job right now was looking pretty on her arm-and, of course, remembering every single detail for Kate and Clint. Kate had gone so far as to suggest he wear a button cam.

  
“ _Come now, little ballerina,_ ” Alexi cajoled, far too familiarly for an ex who hadn’t even tried to see her after his family kicked her to the curb. “ _There's no need to be unfriendly._ ”

  
“ _I'm not being unfriendly,”_ she informed him. Her smile was like the icicles that get reported on the news for falling from the eaves and impaling people. “ _I'm being nicer than you were, the last time we saw each other._ ”

  
“ _That's hardly fair,_ ” he protested. “ _That was years ago. I was young, I made a mistake._ ”

  
Oh, this was even better than Kate had hoped! Alexi seemed to be angling to get Natasha back, now that she was well-established in a credible career, despite the way she and James were standing practically entwined.

  
“ _We all make mistakes as children,_ ” Natasha conceded. “ _The best we can do is learn from them._ ”

  
Unfortunately (from a spectator’s point of view), Coulson chose that moment to interrupt.

  
“Natasha, I hope you don’t mind, but I did mention to Mr. Shostakov that he might be able to call on your bilingual expertise as needed, while he’s here in the states.” Natasha’s only outward reaction was to dig her fingers into James’s side. He manfully did not yelp in protest.

  
“I’m always glad to help the company,” she told Coulson sweetly, in a voice that James would have been terrified to have directed at him. Alexi’s eyes glinted with something like triumph.

  
“I’ll be delighted to have your help, Natalia,” he said in his heavily accented English. Natasha’s chin lifted defiantly, but Steve cut in with all the social grace of a sugar-high Labrador.

  
“James called you that earlier, 'Natalia.' Is that a Russian version of your name?” He seemed so earnest, Natasha couldn’t seem to bring herself to snap at him.

  
“It’s a nickname,” she answered. “It’s typically only used once one has permission to be familiar.” The second part of her statement was clearly a reproof, and Coulson shot Alexi a glance, as if surprised that his guest of honor would commit a faux pas.

  
“ _Are we not familiar, then?_ ” Alexi asked, clearly not caring how rude he was being to their English-speaking companions.

  
“ _Using a nickname is one of the many privileges you no longer have,_ ” she told him bluntly, then addressed the others. “Coulson, it was good to see you, but we should be getting back to Sam. Steve?”

  
The blond nodded, once again clearly grateful for direction, and waved awkwardly at the other two men before leading the way back to his boyfriend. James decided Alexi had been sufficiently smacked down for one evening, and so refrained from commentary. He did, however, plant a lingering kiss on Natasha’s temple as they were walking away.  
He also very seriously considered flicking Alexi off, but refrained. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is all I have written for now. Updates will happen sporadically, possible more today, possibly no more for ages. Sorry for being terrible.  
> Anyway, about the story: obviously the point of view is going to keep rotating, I promise it will earn its rating later, and hopefully there haven't been any grave grammatical errors. I also only just noticed that I fucked up how I was trying to put the Russian (I don't speak it and am not about to make anyone translate anything), but hopefully it's all better now.  
> If you've made it this far, thanks^^


	5. Sam is great at socializing, and being workplace appropriate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam enjoys his coworkers' companionship at the mixer, possibly more than he means to as a platonic friend helping a buddy out.

Sam was mildly surprised, upon reaching his HR coworkers, to notice that Steve hadn’t followed him. The man usually stuck to his side like a burr at these sorts of events, uncomfortable to be without his social buffer. Cognitively, Sam knew it was good for Steve to be branching out, making new friends, but that didn’t stop the twinge of jealousy he felt at seeing someone else cracking up his friend. Adamantly refusing to mother-hen his normally shy friend any more, Sam quickly got caught up chatting with his workmates. It wasn’t until he felt arm looping around his shoulders that Sam realized he was quite possibly going to have to explain some things to some people.

  
“Having fun?” Steve asked, leaning companionably against the smaller man. At least, Sam hoped it was companionably. Judging by Maria’s raised eyebrow, it was quite possibly more familiar than “companionable.”

  
“Hey,” Sam greeted weakly. Natasha and James also joined the group, introducing themselves around to the rest of the HR team.

  
“Does this count as sufficient mixing?” Steve murmured plaintively. “I’ve talked to, like, seven people.”

  
“Not a fan of you coworkers?” Sitwell interjected, apparently overhearing.

  
“He seems fond enough of Sam,” Maria pointed out archly.

  
“It’s good to see that finally going both ways,” Darcy added with a smirk. Sam instantly regretted ever commiserating with her about which coworkers were attractive. He vainly hoped Steve would miss the implication, and Steve, in stunning fashion, appeared utterly confused by the entire exchange.

  
“We’ve both always gone both ways,” he replied, confusion coloring his tone. “Is that not common knowledge?” The question was directed solely at Sam, which meant Steve’s face was barely an inch from his own. Forcing himself to keep his cool, Sam managed what he deemed, under the circumstances, to be a passably flippant comment.

  
“Technically, that’s not the sort of thing HR is allowed to care about.”

  
“So, I have to ask,” James cut in, and Sam silently blessed him for any possible topic change. “How much do you model your department after Catbert, the Evil HR Director?” Darcy giggled and Sitwell smiled like he was going to allow the joke, even if he didn’t find it particularly funny, but Maria’s eyes went wide.

  
“I’ve been waiting so long for someone to catch on!” she exclaimed. “No one ever gets it. Natasha, I love your boyfriend.”

Natasha laughed, that full, open laugh none of them had heard before the drive up.

  
“I do too,” she told them, and the look James turned on her was downright sappy.

  
“Oh, ugh, you’re all way too cute,” Darcy grumbled, waving her hand to include the four of them.

  
“Told you we were cuter,” Sam couldn’t help sniping at Natasha, and her eyes narrowed at the challenge.

  
“She never said cuter,” the redhead protested. “Anyway, we are clearly the better looking couple."

  
“Oooooh, couple-off!” Darcy exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly. Sometimes, given her complete lack of filter, Sam wondered how she had ended up in HR. “Are you going to make out? You should totally make out.”

  
“Darcy,” Maria warned, but Darcy waved her off.

  
“C’mon, Maria, what’s not to love about watching a bunch of hotties macking on each other?” Stiwell huffed and left, presumably for a more appropriate discussion, but Darcy’s damage had already been done. Natasha murmured a quick Russian question to James, and his answering grin was positively feral.

  
Bringing his right arm around to cradle her face, he left his left arm hooked around her waist, then swept Natasha into a dramatic dip. Her arms latched around his back, and one of her feet pointed out delicately, reminding Sam of what she had said about being a ballerina. The pair kissed, but it wasn’t the dramatic, passionate sort of kiss the pose suggested. Rather, it was almost tentative; physically chaste, but so clearly full of emotion that it felt indecent to watch anyway. It only lasted a few seconds before Natasha was back on her feet, only a faint pink tint on her cheeks hinting that she hadn’t been standing still the whole time.

  
“That,” Darcy said flatly, “was not cute. That was fucking hot, and therefore does not count toward overall cuteness.”

  
“That’s not even fair!” James protested. His cheeks were a bit flushed too, Sam noticed. “That was an adorable move!”

  
“Don’t be a sore loser, James,” Steve drawled. Sam could tell without looking that Steve was wearing the smile that meant he was about to be an absolute shit. “It’s unbecoming.”

  
With that sanctimonious reprimand, Steve actually nuzzled his face into Sam’s neck. One arm stayed looped around Sam’s shoulders, but the other slid possessively around his waist, catching Sam’s hand and intertwining their fingers again. Sam did his best not to show just how much the contact was affecting him, instead reaching up with his free hand to tousle Steve’s hair. Steve practically melted into the contact, his full body pressing against Sam’s back. Sam was instantly glad he had chosen to wear jeans to the mixer.

  
“Having fun, babe?” he asked, and Steve’s answering grin was just as feral as the one James had shown before dipping Natasha. Sam wasn’t sure how he felt about the possibility of Steve trying something similar on him.

  
“Oh my god, Coulson is staring at you so hard right now,” Darcy giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. “If looks could kill, Wilson, you’d be on fire.”

  
Unexpectedly-possibly disappointingly-that broke the spell. Steve loosened his hold on Sam’s torso, laughing out loud.

  
“I can’t tell if he’s jealous or protective.” Maria was laughing too, and Sam felt himself grinning along.

  
“Did I tell you he winked at us earlier?”

  
Darcy grabbed his wrist, meeting his eyes with utter sincerity.

  
“Tell. Me. Everything.”

  
***

  
The rest of the mixer passed without incident, and the four mingled and grazed from the buffet until Coulson took the stage for a brief announcement. He thanked everyone for their attendance, reminded them of the next day’s schedule, and dismissed them. Steve had stuck close to Sam for the rest of the event, but they didn’t catch up to Natasha and James until they had almost reached the stairwell.

  
“That was delightful,” Natasha said drily. She and James were still linked together, and Sam vaguely wondered if they had let go of each other all evening.

  
“Okay, so, can I ask,” Steve hedged, then blurted out, “what was up with you and the guest speaker?”

  
Natasha twitched at the question, and Sam raised an eyebrow at Steve.

  
“It’s just, you two seemed like you knew each other,” he explained.

  
“Ah, yes, all Russians know each other,” James deadpanned, shifting almost protectively between Natasha and Steve.

  
“It’s fine,” Natasha muttered, then looked at Steve and Sam. “Alexi and I did know each other. We were engaged, in Russia. He called it off, and I didn’t take it well.”

  
“I’m so sorry,” Steve exhaled, sincere in a way that would seem over-the-top fake from anyone else, but somehow worked for him. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  
“Sure you didn’t,” James growled, but Natasha put a quelling hand on his chest.

  
“It’s really alright. I knew he was going to be here. I didn’t expect him to hit on me,” she tacked on with a wry smile.

  
“At least you’ve got a new, hotter boyfriend,” Steve offered, then immediately blushed, ducking to hide his face against Sam's shoulder. “Sam, why do you let me talk? I’m so bad at talking.”

  
The other three laughed at him, and any bad feelings were dispelled as they reached their rooms. Sam suddenly realized he was facing the prospect of something like 13 hours alone in a single-bed hotel room with the incredibly attractive man who had spent the evening being physically affectionate, and was overcome with the need to be literally anywhere else.

  
“I think I’m gonna see if the fitness center in this place is still open,” he announced. It seemed prudent to burn off his excess energy before getting into bed with a self-proclaimed ‘sleep cuddler,’ and Sam was maybe a little bit worried he would forget to stop the simple acts of affection the pair had been trading so easily during the mixer. “Anyone want to come with?”

  
“I think we’ll have a quiet evening in,” Natasha decided, and James nodded. Steve yawned.

  
“I’m about ready to veg out, myself,” he said, then added, “I’ll leave the door unlocked, if you want anything.”

  
Only Steve Rogers would hear a couple practically announce they were going to have sex, then offer to leave the door open ‘in case they wanted anything.’ Seriously, how was this guy real? But Natasha just smiled fondly at him.

  
“We’ll leave ours unlocked too. Knock if you want company.”

  
Unbidden, the image of Steve joining in on whatever activities James and Natasha had planned sprang into Sam’s mind. Definitely time to hit the gym.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually was going to post this on the 26th, but the website automatically set it to go out on the 27th. I think AO3 is telling me to calm down. I can't help it, I saw that people were actually leaving kudos and stuff and I got really excited...  
> Anyway, about the story:  
> I will forever love a Steve who is 110% competent professionally, but turns into this lil socially awkward duckling around strangers, then a being of pure, unmitigated sass around his friends. Also, affectionate like a cat but completely unaware of his effect on Sam.  
> Also, I have about ten more chapters planned, to be written and posted as I find time. And by 'planned,' I mean 'summarized by disjointed sentences that probably won't make much sense to basically anyone else.'  
> In the hopes of keeping you all entertained, I will possibly post those summaries as teasers for the upcoming chapters. So, up next:
> 
> Nat chapter: aww, Jamie, poor shoulder, self esteem, let me love you, wait, STEVIE?
> 
> What does it mean? Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> And by that, of course, I mean 'kindly wander back sometime and I may have written more."


	6. Natasha is the best kind of friend, even when she'd rather be something else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some BuckyNat backstory, a lil bit of fluff, and the promised dramatic reveal!

As much as she had enjoyed their company, Natasha was glad to put a door between herself and Sam and Steve. Going by the way he flopped face-first onto the bed, James didn’t mind so much either.

  
“Well, all things considered, today wasn’t so bad,” she declared, and he rolled over just enough to look at her, loose hair falling to obscure his view.

  
“How are you, Natalia?” he asked softly. She gave the question due consideration, then smiled warmly at him. It was perhaps a little bit ridiculous, how much of a lift she had gotten from being rude to Alexi. The thrill of shooting him down so plainly had buoyed her through the rest of the mixer, which was the sort of event she was usually too nervous to enjoy.

  
“I’m really okay. Sam and Steve were great, everyone else was okay, and Alexi…” she grinned, and she knew it was sharp enough to filet a man. “Alexi was jealous of you.”

  
“I’m glad,” he told her, muffled by the blanket he had fallen back onto. “But maybe we shouldn’t let Kate know her plan worked so well. She’ll get cocky.”

  
“Kate is amazing and deserves all the praise for this,” Natasha countered, pulling out her phone and jumping onto the bed. She settled in, pretzel-legged, and fired off a quick text to Kate. James grumbled a little at being jostled, sitting up enough to remove his shirts. He was holding himself stiffly, and Natasha suddenly realized how much effort he had been putting in all evening to hide his prosthetic arm.

  
“Sweetheart, let me help,” she insisted, walking across the bed on her knees. He relaxed to her ministrations immediately, and she felt the same rush of affection she always got when he allowed her to care for him. “How bad is it?”

  
“Not good,” he admitted, which was more helpful from his sarcastic response to the same question at the rest stop. “And one of my straps got twisted in the car.”

  
“You should have said something,” she chastised, distressed at the sight of the skin rubbed raw by the misaligned prosthetic strap. Carefully detaching the limb, she placed it aside and dug through her bag for lotion.

  
“I didn’t wanna draw attention to it,” he muttered. “Had to make you look good.”

  
“James.” Lotion abandoned, she took his face firmly in her hands so he was forced to meet her eyes. “I would gladly have you next to me with your prosthetic showing, or off. Missing your arm does not make you any less in my eyes. You know this!”

  
“It’s not about your eyes, Natalia,” he sighed, as if she was the one being difficult. “I have to look good in front of everyone else. Alexi’s watch cost more than our apartment. You want him thinking the only new boyfriend you could land is some cripple?”  
Natasha growled her frustration.

  
“You’re an idiot,” she told him flatly. “Alexi is already jealous of you-of how much I love you. And you lost your arm saving people. No one will ever look down on you for that!”

  
James pulled away, moving to the sink to avoid her gaze. For a split second, Natasha was worried he had caught her slip-telling him she loved him-but then recognized her real mistake.

  
“I know you don’t like talking about it,” she continued, softly. “And I won’t make you. We don’t have to tell anyone anything, if you’re more comfortable that way.” Approaching him gently, like a spooked animal, she reached out to touch his back. He was leaning against the counter, head hung low in the posture she had long since learned meant he was beating himself up over his own shortcomings.

  
“Sweetheart, you’ve done everything wonderfully today,” she reassured him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt incredibly guilty for not noticing how stressed he had clearly been all day-stress caused by doing her yet another favor. “Come to the bed,” she coaxed. “Let me help your arm.”

  
Numbly, he let her lead him back to the bed and settle him in for a massage. James rarely allowed anyone to care for him like this-he was much more comfortable in the caretaker role. It always felt a little bit like falling in love, the way she felt when he trusted her enough to see him vulnerable.

  
He never used to be like this, before the accident. When he was The American, champion of Volgograd’s underground fight scene, he oozed charm and exhaled wit. His friendship, freely offered at a time when no one dared get too close to such a deadly woman, had retaught her the importance of human contact. After his amputation, he had tried to send her away more often than he had allowed her close, but dragging him through his rehabilitation had just added another layer to their already unshakable bond.

  
Natasha hadn't lied, when she told Sam and Steve how she had met James. He really had pulled her out of a fight, then never stopped watching her back. Things she had neglected to mention included the fact that the fight was caused by crime gang allegiance, and that he had been hired by her foster father to act as her bodyguard. Natasha had, of course, scorned the need for any sort of back up, but James had settled into her life with the tenacity of an alley cat. Before she knew what was happening, he was her closest friend, and the pair were a juggernaut in the Volgograd underworld. Their skills had gotten them selected to fly to the United States for a particular job, but the two had conspired to take the chance to make their escape from the criminal life and start over.

  
She had daydreamed a lot, during the long days waiting in the hospital, about what would have happened if they had fled as soon as they touched ground, instead of trying to get one last payout. James would still have both of his arms, she was sure, and the guilt over that plagued her constantly. Then again, they wouldn’t have Clint and Kate, and James had once declared that they were worth the loss of his arm.

  
Clint was the source of the problem Natasha and James had been sent to the U.S. to fix. The stories coming from NYC sounded like the bosses there were trying to cheat the syndicate head in Russia, so he had sent his two best soldiers two sort things out. Even though she had experienced a lot of it firsthand, Natasha still had trouble believing it was the truth. Then again, that describes basically everything Clint Barton ever touched.

  
The ex-carnie human-shaped disaster and his offensively wealthy foster sister had accidentally bought a building out from under the Russian mob, and refused to back down. Instead of disappearing, like they planned, James and Natasha had found themselves joining forces with the pair against their former cohort. Over the course of seven spectacular days, the quartet managed to run the mob off the entire block, fake Natasha's death and reincarnation as a legitimate expat, start five fires, and get a dog. Kate, lacking what she called "traditional college experiences," fondly called that week "Spring Break 2011."

  
While the group had expected fallout from their actions, they hadn't thought the Russians would retaliate by trying to burn down the local rec center during a community event a few weeks later. Quick thinking, quicker action, and James's special forces training had prevented major catastrophe-the only casualty had been James himself. He had woken up in the hospital with no memory of the preceding days and no left arm. It had not been a pleasant time for anyone.

  
That had been four years ago, and while he had adjusted to doing everything one-handed, he had never regained his self-confidence or swagger-though he could evidently fake it exceedingly well. It had been delightful, seeing a hint of his old, cocky self today. Natasha was mildly scheming how to draw out those characteristics more often when she heard a familiar patterned knock on the adjoining door.

  
"Come in," she called on reflex. Steve always knocked in a certain pattern, and she had no objection to his presence-until James stiffened under her hands. He lurched to grab his shirt, or his prosthetic, but Steve had already opened the door.

  
"Hey, I thought I'd go for-oh, sorry! Am I interrupting?" he cut himself off upon noticing James's scramble and immediately looked away. James glared at Natasha, but she glared right back. She refused to let him hide from their friend, of all people.  
"No, you're good," she told Steve, shifting so James couldn't get his shirt. He glared harder, so she pointedly looked at Steve.  
"I was going to go for ice," the blond restarted, carefully looking at Natasha's face and only her face. "We don't have a bucket, so I was hoping I could borrow yours."

  
"Sure, we aren't using it," Natasha replied breezily, settling more firmly on James's shirt. "Jamie, grab it for him?"

  
James grumbled promises for several inventive types of revenge, but moved for the bucket. Steve clearly understood James's tone, if not his Russian, because he quirked a brow at Natasha. She kept her face carefully blank in response, so Steve's focus turned to James. His eyes widened as they flicked to take in the stump at the brunet's left shoulder, and Natasha could practically see James's hackles rise.

  
"The bucket," he ground out, shoving it none-too-gently into Steve's stomach. He caught it on autopilot, eyes snapping back to James's face, but instead of replying, he stared dumbly at the shorter man. James withstood the scrutiny for approximately three seconds before snapping.

  
"What?" he demanded, and his harsh tone seemed to finally reach Steve. Natasha wanted to sink her face into her hands for how poorly this was going. She'd hoped the first revelation could go a bit smoother, to reassure James that not everyone was a colossal shitbag.

  
"Your tattoo," Steve choked out, and Natasha was sure James's face mirrored her own surprise.

  
"What about it?" James asked, still defensive but less actively murderous. Steve, still apparently not quite connecting actions with thoughts, touched a tentative fingertip to the design over James's heart. Natasha was familiar with it, having worked over the area during countless massages-a Mobius strip stylized to look like train tracks, with a tiny train cresting one outer curve. A small part of the bottom of the tattoo had been lost to scar tissue, and that loss, more than the realization of his missing limb, had made James break down. It was also the one thing he refused to talk to anyone about, but here was Steve, looking like everything he'd ever known was crashing down around his ears because of that tattoo.

  
"Bucky?" Steve whispered. Natasha expected James to continue on his defensive, maybe snarl "who the hell is Bucky?" She did not expect him to stagger back a step, hand over his mouth, and reply in equal awe.

  
"Stevie. Are you fucking serious?"

  
The next thing she knew, the men had crashed together in a rough embrace. James had his face hidden in Steve's shoulder in the way she knew meant he was trying not to cry, and Steve's eyes were distinctly watery.

  
"Fucking hell, Bucky, I thought you were dead," Steve growled, then pushed James away to hold him at arm's length. "How are you not dead?"

  
"I thought you were smaller," James replied weakly. "How are you..." he trailed off with a vague gesture indicating Steve's stature, making the blond laugh and pull him back in for another hug.

  
"It's so fucking good to see you, jerk," he murmured into James's shoulder, and Natasha got the distinct feeling that she was intruding on an exceedingly private moment. She cleared her throat, and the men turned to look at her, though their arms stayed locking them together.

  
"Natasha," Steve squeaked, as if only remembering she was there. "Bucky-James-we-"

  
"We were best friends, as kids," James cut in, saving Steve from his floundering. "Ain't seen each other in, what, ten years? Since before I went to Russia." Steve nodded absently, then frowned.

  
"Why were you in Russia? What were you doing?"

  
"That's a long fuckin' story, pal," James hedged, but Natasha could tell he was itching to start it.

  
"Boys, come sit down," she commanded, using the tone she knew made people tend to obey automatically. Sure enough, Steve and James gravitated towards the bed. She grabbed them each a bottle of water from the mini bar, kissed James firmly on the forehead, and moved to the adjoining door. "Catch up. Take your time. I'll hang out with Sam." Not allowing them time to respond, she shut and locked the adjoining door, then quickly moved to turn on the television. Otherwise, she would spend the evening with her ear to the wall, desperate to know more about this surprising connection between her friend and coworker.  
James would tell her eventually, she promised herself. If she repeated it enough, maybe she would actually believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all left comments, and kudos, and I seriously did a little happy dance in my chair. I'm never going to not comment on anything I read ever again, because seriously, it's waaaaay more gratifying than I expected. I love you, kind strangers:D And to show my love, I wrote you another chapter during work today.  
> Things will probably slow down a little, because this week is pretty packed and I can't spend the WHOLE time writing, but, you know, I'll try.  
> Hopefully the backstory isn't weirdly jammed in... it's a little bit awkwardly exposition-heavy, because wanting to explain every damn detail is a major flaw of mine that I have yet to rectify.  
> A lot of Natasha characterization tends to range across "terrifyingly competent" and "personification of femme fatale," but I've always been fond of superdork Natasha, who is slow to affection but once she gets there, loves so fiercely she can't help but express it in awkward ways sometimes, like buying people really specific gifts based on a conversation she overheard them having with someone, but she doesn't want them to know she was listening, so she sneaks into their apartment to leave the gift and eats all their cereal while she's there, so everyone she loves comes to realize that if you get a mysterious but incredibly useful gift and have no cereal left, it's Natasha's way of saying she loves you.  
> Also, Natasha calls James "Sweetheart" and he calls her "Doll" because they're idiots who have loved each other for years and refuse to be sappy enough to say it any way but through nicknames.
> 
> Next chapter will also have plenty of backstory, plus fluff! The simple summary:
> 
> Bucky chapter: Stevie my love! I mean, hey buddy
> 
> I'll try not to keep you waiting too long.


	7. Bucky Absolutely Can Deal With All of These Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old friends are reunited! Steve explains why he isn't tiny, and Bucky explains how he isn't actually dead.

A tiny part of Bucky’s brain registered Natasha’s forehead kiss, the water bottle in his hand, the feel of the bed under him. The rest was wholly occupied with the knowledge that Steve Rogers, his childhood best friend, was even now sitting next to him, looking equally stricken. 

“I can’t believe it’s really you, Buck,” Steve managed finally. He hadn’t stopped touching Bucky, running a hand along his arm, tracing his tattoo, even once brushing cautious fingers along his jaw. It was as if he was afraid Bucky would disappear if Steve stopped touching him. To be fair, Bucky had once done exactly that.

“I came back for you,” Bucky told him suddenly. Until the words tumbled from his mouth, he hadn’t realized how desperately he had needed to say them. Hearing his childhood nickname had unlocked ten years of pent-up feelings, and Bucky couldn’t have stopped the ensuing outpouring of words if he tried. “I finished basic, and sniper training. They gave me leave, before special ops training, and I came straight to see you. I hated how we left things, Stevie, I had to come back to you. You were all I thought about, the whole time I was gone.”

“I never knew,” Steve nearly whispered. “I just figured you were finally done with me.” His hands finally withdrew, and the massive man seemed to shrink in on himself. Bucky was forcibly reminded of the tiny boy he had befriended nearly two and a half decades before-not that teenaged Steve had shrunk from anything. His entire life, when Bucky was faced with something daunting, from asking out a pretty girl to mounting an assault on an enemy stronghold, his go-to pep talk had always been some variation of “Steve never backs down, so neither will I.”

Bucky privately suspected that his and Steve’s friendship had sprung from his respect for the other boy’s tenacity, but had to admit he was just as unsure as everyone else how exactly the two had become a pair. The nuns at the orphanage where they grew up had only been able to offer that it happened soon after they both arrived, and it had been a near-instantaneous fusing of two troubled boys into one troublemaking unit. Steve’s unrelenting pursuit of justice (frequently through violence) and Bucky’s utter disregard for thing that didn’t interest him (generally, his homework and whatever Steve wasn’t doing), coupled with Steve’s impeccable manners and Bucky’s irrepressible charm meant they spent most of their time getting in trouble and the rest getting out of it. Still, Steve had been the strongest constant in Bucky’s world, his other half until they were seventeen and suddenly the prospect of aging out of the system was more real and more frightening than ever. The state had been paying Steve’s frankly astronomical medical bills, and Bucky quickly figured out his best chance for income, given his somewhat lackluster grades, was to enlist. 

Steve, ever adamant that Bucky put himself first for once, had been furious when Bucky accidentally let slip his true motive for joining the Army. They had fought, over the years, but never as viciously and explosively as they had the night before Bucky left for basic. Too hurt and angry to apologize, Bucky had stormed out and left for the training base without saying goodbye. He had spent the entire time regretting it. 

“Stevie, I was never sick of you,” he insisted, gut twisting at Steve’s obvious self-deprecation. “I said a lot of awful things before I left, but I never thought you’d take me seriously.” Steve huffed a laugh that bordered on hysterical.

“Well, it was pretty easy to believe you meant everything when I didn’t hear from you,” the blond countered, anger visibly rising as he continued. “I had no way to contact you, Bucky, no way of finding out where you were or if you were okay. Do you have any idea how long I waited for you to call, or write, or something?” Steve cut himself off, looking away and inhaling deeply.

“Steve,” Bucky tried again, but Steve shook his head.

“It was a long time ago.” His voice was tightly controlled, and he clenched his jaw in the way that always used to mean he was reining in his emotions. “It’s stupid for me to get so worked up. People leave, that’s a fact of life.”

“I never meant to!” Bucky protested. Without thinking, he gripped Steve’s chin and forced the other man to meet his eyes. “I thought about you every damn day I was gone, Stevie, god’s honest truth. I was too chickenshit to apologize with a letter or a phone call, though, I wanted to do it in person. I got this tattoo with my first paycheck, so I could show you I was still with you…” Bucky trailed off, hoping Steve would finish the line. It was their code, “with you until the end of the line” functioning as shorthand for how unutterably important they were to each other. Steve, always the artist, had doodled a little train on a Mobius track, unable to voice it but needing to show that the line would never end. Bucky had kept the drawing, and used it as reference for his tattoo. Steve obviously recognized the design, and the words, as he tentatively placed a hand over the ink on Bucky’s chest and ruefully murmured “until the end of the line.”

“You said you came back,” Steve continued hoarsely. “Why did I never see you?”

Bucky sighed deeply, tipping his head against Steve’s shoulder. It was an old habit, hiding his face to make confessing easier, but it didn’t feel as familiar as he had hoped, now that Steve was so massive. But questions about that aside, the man was expecting an answer.

“I saw you with Peggy,” Bucky murmured, ten year old jealousy swirling in his gut. Steve had absolutely been his first love, the benchmark by which he had figured out the meaning of the term. He’d always thought maybe Steve felt the same way, and they would figure things out…eventually. Steve had inspired him to bravery, but he was also the cause of Bucky’s greatest moments of cowardice. Being apart for the months of training had made Bucky determined to make a move, display his new tattoo and his heart all in one go, but is first sight of Steve after ten weeks away, he was arm-in-arm with a drop dead gorgeous woman, smiling at her the way he had only ever smiled at Bucky. Bucky had gotten close enough to overhear the obvious affection in their conversation, so he tracked her down to talk to her about what Steve meant to her. She had wasted no time telling him how badly he had hurt Steve by leaving, not to mention how Steve was only just starting to improve, and Bucky promptly decided to remove his worthless self from Steve’s way.

“Peggy?” Steve sounded perplexed. “Peggy Carter?”

“I talked to her,” Bucky admitted, keeping his face in Steve’s shoulder. Steve smelled nice. “She was good people. You were happy without me. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Interrupt?” Steve laughed helplessly. “There wasn’t anything to interrupt. I may have wished there was, but… Peggy Carter.” He trailed off, staring into space with a fond little grin. “She was incredible. But Buck, she was no replacement for you.” 

Bucky finally sat up, staring intently at Steve as if he could peel back all the years between them and read the other man’s mind the way he almost could as a child. It was impossible to tell if Steve simply meant Peggy could never be a new best friend, or if she could never replace Bucky as the main fixture in Steve’s heart. 

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Bucky said quietly. “I didn’t think I could give you that.”

Steve didn’t respond at first, just pulled Bucky into a crushing hug.

“You were everything,” he growled fiercely. “Everything, Buck, and I was so lost without you. And when I heard you died…” Steve stopped, clearly suddenly remembering a rather important fact they had yet to cover.

“You were declared dead!” he exclaimed, holding Bucky at arm’s length. Bucky grimaced, feeling even worse about this than he did about the way he and Steve had last parted. “I thought you left hating me, then I find out I’m your next of kin when I hear from the FUCKIN’ EXECUTOR OF YOUR WILL!” Steve was nearly shouting, and Bucky gritted his teeth to face the onslaught of a full-blown Rogers Outburst. He certainly deserved it. 

Apparently, the years had taught Steve a modicum of control, because he reined himself in again, calming enough to take his hands off Bucky’s shoulders.

“You’re clearly not dead,” he continued, much more level.

“I’m not dead,” Bucky agreed. Steve glared, and the brunet decided he wasn’t in good enough grace to tease. He explained as succinctly as possible. “I got tapped for a special forces team, but it was super classified, to the point that it’s technically treason to tell you about it. But they declared all of the members legally dead. I didn’t even think about you getting the news, Stevie, I forgot I’d put your name on the forms, I swear.”

“You forgot you listed me as your next of kin,” Steve said flatly. He’d always been able to tell when Bucky was lying.

“Fine, I remembered, but they said they’d work it so you got a pretty big payout from my will. I knew-or thought I knew-that you had Peggy, and you’d be okay.” Steve slumped to rest his elbows on his legs and hide his face in his hands. 

“Bucky, how could you ever think that?” His voice had never sounded so small, even when he had been the runt of their high school. It made Bucky feel lower than dirt.

“I talked to her,” Bucky repeated. “I knew she’d take care of you. I really thought you were better off without me.” 

Steve stared at him, face slack with shock. When he did manage a reaction, it was to angrily shove Bucky and stand up from the bed, pacing angrily.

“You are the most bull-headed, ignorant person I’ve ever met!” he accused, which Bucky thought was particularly rich coming from the boy who had routinely faced down bullies twice his size rather than back down from what he thought was right. Still, Bucky had always known Steve was better than him, even when they were kids. It was especially true now, after the things he’d done with his special forces unit, and after. 

“I know,” he admitted softly. After all, Steve hadn’t accused Bucky of anything he hadn’t called himself a hundred times. Unexpectedly, the concession made Steve abruptly stop pacing and crouch in front of Bucky, staring searchingly at his face. Bucky tried to look away, but Steve caught his chin.

“That was unfair of me to say,” Steve sighed. “That was 19 year old Steve speaking. I have no idea what was going on with you, Buck, I can’t just judge you based on how I felt ten years ago.” Bucky was still caught off guard by the rapid changes of pace, so Steve gently prodded him to continue. “Will you please at least tell me what happened? I used to know everything about you, and I know I have no right, but I just want to know you again. Is that okay?”

Bucky couldn’t answer for a minute, overcome with relief that Steve still harbored enough affection to care about his obviously broken childhood friend. Still, the way he had calmed himself down proved how much he had grown up in the decade they had spent apart, and Bucky realized he wanted to know everything about Steve, too. 

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he offered weakly, and Steve’s smile almost wasn’t sad at all. 

They spent the night swapping stories. Steve somewhat abashedly explained how he had spent Bucky’s life insurance payout on heart surgery (“don’t you fuckin’ DARE apologize for that, Rogers”), and how his body had finally grown once it didn’t have to constantly compensate for a defective heart. He talked about Peggy, who had been an amazing friend, supporting him through Bucky’s death, but who had moved to L.A. with her girlfriend. (“Of course we never got together, I spent most of the time we knew each other heartbroken over you.” “Fuck, Rogers, don’t get all sappy on me.”) Before she left, Peggy had helped him get into art school, and from there he had joined E&L and was now their lead designer. 

Bucky, in turn, gave the cliff notes of his service, explaining how he had been stranded in Russia after a mission gone sour. He touched briefly on meeting Natasha, not sure how much he should tell about their involvement in organized crime, and talked a bit about meeting Clint and Kate. The only thing he would say about his arm was that he lost it in a building fire, and Steve hadn’t pressed. He had simply looked at Bucky, really taken in the whole picture of scars and stump and all, then pulled Bucky into yet another hug. His “I’m sorry you went through that” had none of the insincerity people usually couldn’t avoid, and Bucky felt tears pricking behind his eyes at the gentle acceptance of his less-than-whole self. Steve was only the third non medical professional to see him without a shirt or prosthetic, and it was quite nearly as painless as Natasha had promised. 

They ended up lying on the bed, both exhausted by the emotional turmoil of the day. Face to face, they curved together so their knees were touching and their hands tangled between them. Bucky shyly admitted he had never looked Steve up after coming back to the states because he didn’t want to get too close to someone so good when his hands were stained so red. Steve had replied with a number of inventive comments disparaging his intelligence, then explained how much he had always admired Bucky’s loyalty and smarts. Both commiserated on the amazing set of circumstances that had reunited them, and promised they wouldn’t be separated again. They drifted off in the small hours of the morning, hands still entwined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this took kind of longer than I expected, because it turns out I have to sometimes do real world things and not spend all my time writing fanfiction. Also, this chapter isn't really funny, because it's super backstory heavy and there are lots of emotions and I couldn't really make it humorous without cheapening it. At least it's short? 
> 
> (Shit, that's not a good thing to offer the readers).
> 
> Basically, this chapter is to just get them back together, so they can start interacting with the foundation of 15 years of friendship/unrequited love and the agony of being apart for 10 years. FOR THE DRAMA!!!
> 
> And yeah, the backstory is super condensed, but trust me, I have a TON of stuff in my brain about it, so if there's anything you want to know, feel free to ask and I'll either include it later or straight up tell you. 
> 
> Bucky is Bucky now instead of James because once he stopped being around Steve, he stopped going by Steve's name for him, but being around Steve makes him feel like Bucky again. In case anyone was wondering. And the 'damaged,' 'worthless,' etc comments are because this is Bucky's perspective, and Mr. Barnes is notoriously lacking self-esteem.
> 
> Major thanks for all the comments, the kindness and encouragement is delightful and, contrary to empirical evidence, did NOT make me take a break from posting chapters, so please keep it up. I have vague plans to get this done before school starts, but, yanno, mice are shit at plans.
> 
> (Is that the saying? It's not. Plus, DisneyLand is fuckin meticulous.)
> 
> Until next time, which will hopefully not be two weeks away, I will leave you with the summary for the next chapter:
> 
> Sam chapter: this is not the hot person I expected to spend the night with, but cool.


	8. The Sam and Natasha "Our Boyfriends are Besties" Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Natasha deal with Steve and Bucky's reunion using ice cream, movies, and generally childish behavior.

Sam felt much better after physically wearing himself out at the hotel fitness center. He was pleasantly tired and much more confident in his ability to keep his cool around Steve. After all, they had been friends for a few years. Tonight wouldn’t be any different from any other movie night they’d had, except the sharing a bed part. That did seem like kind of a big part. Reminding himself yet again that he is an adult capable of not being weird about sleeping next to his (extremely attractive) friend, Sam swiped his key and entered the shared room.

“Hi,” Natasha greeted from the bed with a tiny wave.

“Hi,” Sam replied, perplexed. He looked around, but this was definitely his room.

“So, you missed some things,” Natasha deadpanned, outwardly as unruffled as always. The way she couldn’t stop fidgeting with the tv remote indicated some trouble, and Sam was instantly on alert.

“Is everything okay?” he demanded. “Where are the others?”

“Would you believe me if I said they turned out to be each other’s long lost childhood friends, and are currently having a tearful reunion in the other room?” Sam stared at her for a minute, but she met his eyes, face more open than he had ever seen it.

“Shit,” was his eloquent reply.

“Yeah.”

“Lemme grab a quick shower,” he told her, gathering the things he would need from his bag. “Then you and me are gonna get some ice cream and watch dumb movies. Sound good?” Natasha smiled, a little wobbly, but heartfelt.

Sam hadn’t taken such a quick shower since he got out of the Air Force, but by the time he was back in the room, Natasha had procured three pints of ice cream in different flavors, and spoons for both of them.

“You’re scary efficient, you know that?” he told her. She grinned, even stronger this time, and patted the bed next to her.

“Saw II is coming on,” she nodded at the tv. “I love this movie.”

“I’m pretty sure I said dumb movies,” he replied, opening the tub of cookie dough ice cream. “Not scary.”

“Aww, are you scared of the little puppet?” she teased, taking the pint of fudge brownie.

“Woman, I have parachuted into enemy territory,” he told her haughtily. “I have stitched up other human beings while under artillery fire. I have seen Coulson wink.” Natasha was laughing at his mock serious tone, but she managed to compose herself enough to reply.

“I’ll protect you from the scary movie, Wilson,” she offered, eyes dancing with contained hilarity. Sam, still wearing his best snooty expression, sniffed disdainfully and tucked his legs under the blankets.

“I’m not scared of the movie,” he informed her. “But I will graciously allow you to shield me from having to watch the scary bits.” Natasha laughed again, also sliding under the blankets, moving so their shoulders touched.

“You’re not bad, for an HR guy,” she told him conspiratorially.

“And I suppose you’re alright, for the head of the marketing department,” he replied in a similar tone. Before they could say anything else, a muffled shouting seeped through the connecting door, making them both glance at it in concern.

“That sounded like Steve,” Sam said, and Natasha nodded.

“I guess,” she started hesitantly, then took a deep breath and continued. “I guess they were really close, as kids. Grew up together, were basically family. James told me, once about his old friend ‘Stevie,’ who he always felt bad for walking out on. Turns out, it was your Steve.”

“That’s kind of insane.” Sam had to take a minute to process. Of course, ‘his Steve’ had never shared any sort of similar story, always cagily avoiding saying basically anything about his life before he started at E&L. If they were really dating, Sam reflected bitterly, maybe Steve would open up more than he did to a mere friend.

“Sounds like maybe Steve had some anger about it to work through,” Natasha murmured. The shouting hadn’t lasted long, but her brow was still furrowed. “I hope James isn’t taking this too badly.” Sam felt the need to rise to Steve’s defense at the worry in her town.

“Steve may have a temper, but he’s not gonna hurt the guy.”

“I know,” she snapped. “Steve isn’t the type, I know that.” Her tone softened as she continued. “James, though, he carries so much guilt. He’d do anything to make it up to Steve, whatever he did-or thinks he did.” Sam scrubbed his hands over his face, then reached across Natasha to grab the TV remote.

“Well, there’s not much we can do from over here,” he said, turning up the volume on the movie. “They’re both adults. The best we can do right now is give them the time they need, and be here for them when they need us again. So let’s watch this movie, yeah?”

“You’re an awesome boyfriend,” Natasha told him, settling against his side and the headboard. “Steve’s lucky to have you.”

“Natasha, this world is lucky to have me,” he replied sanctimoniously, ignoring the twinge of disappointment at how little interest Steve seemed to have in actually being as lucky as Natasha thought he was. She hummed in agreement at his statement, focus turning back to the gore on the television.

*

*

*

“I thought you weren’t scared of the movie,” Natasha teased. The movie was almost over-thank god-but Sam had been hiding his face in Natasha’s shoulder so frequently that he had practically slid his upper body entirely behind her torso. Her laughter shifted the back muscles his face was pressed into, and he responded by blindly snatching at her ice cream.

“Not the triple chocolate mocha!” she protested, moving the pint out of his reach. They had already put a good dent in the other two flavors, and Sam was starting to worry a little bit about giving himself a stomach ache. Of course, since Natasha wanted the ice cream, he felt obliged to try harder to take it.

They tussled for a few minutes, laughing and taunting each other, until her hand brushed too close to his armpit and he shrank back with a squeak. They both froze, his eyes wide, her smile wider.

“Natasha, beautiful, you know you’re way too mature for this sort of childishness,” he attempted to convince her, but she primly set the ice cream aside on the nightstand, checked the bed for any other loose items, and pounced on him. Fifteen minutes later, they were both slumped tiredly on the floor, laughed out. Saw II had ended, but apparently the channel they were watching was having a marathon of the series, much to Sam’s chagrin. Fortunately, Natasha took pity on him and switched off the tv.

“Are you staying here tonight?” he asked. Low conversation was still audible from the other room if he was close enough to the door. Natasha bit her lip, uncertain. Sam suddenly remembered that despite how much time they had spent laughing and joking today, they really didn’t know each other at all outside of work.

“You can have the bed,” he assured her hastily. “And I can lend you some stuff to sleep in, so you don’t have to wear your jeans. Or we can interrupt them and get you your boyfriend back.”

“I don’t want to take your bed,” she replied firmly. “But I do want to give those two as much time as they need. So, maybe I could borrow some sleep clothes?” Sam mentally cataloged everything he had brought, then realized Steve’s running shorts (given the man’s ridiculously tiny waist) would probably fit her more comfortably. He felt a tiny twinge of guilt at rifling through the other man’s bag, but decided Steve was too busy monopolizing Natasha’s room and boyfriend to care.

“He’s probably sleeping in your room, so you can sleep in his clothes,” Sam rationalized when Natasha raised an eyebrow at the offered clothing. She shrugged and went to change, using the complimentary hotel toothbrush and mouthwash.

“I really don’t mind sharing the bed,” she said when she came back into the room, noting the way Sam was folding the comforter to act as a makeshift mattress on the floor. “If you’re okay with it.” Sam reflected wryly that he had been prepared to share the bed with an attractive someone, so his plans hadn’t changed that much. They settled back in comfortably, and Natasha turned the tv back on.

“If this gives me nightmares, you’re the one who has to deal with my flailing,” Sam warned her grimly. She had proven to be unexpectedly strong during their earlier tickle fight (if it could be called that when only one participant was ticklish), but he still worried about the damage he could cause with a misplaced fist. He hadn’t thought much of her movie choice earlier, but with the lights out he was suddenly dreadfully aware of what the gore might dredge out of his subconscious. Some of this must have shown in his face, because Natasha immediately changed the channel to cartoons.

“I didn’t think about it, Sam, I’m sorry.” She was glaring at the corner of the bed, and Sam would bet his next year’s salary she was silently cursing herself.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging her shoulder with his. “If I thought it was really likely to be a problem, I would’ve said so earlier. It’s been awhile since I had a really bad night. As long as I don’t fall asleep with the creepy noises playing, I really should be fine.” Natasha looked up almost shyly, meeting his eyes through a curtain of hair.

“James has nightmares sometimes,” she confided. "He served too." Sam put on his best encouraging face, the one he had found made people instinctively trust him with all kinds of secrets. If he wasn’t so trustworthy, he would probably feel bad about using what Darcy called his ‘superpower,’ but he figured it was okay as long as he didn’t have ulterior motives. With great power, and so on.

“I’m pretty good at calming him down,” Natasha continued, fidgeting a little. “So, if you need…” she trailed off, and Sam mentally confirmed his newly revised assessment of her. At work, Natasha had something of a reputation as an ice queen, always in control of everything and everyone. However, as he had discovered over the course of the day, she was also a massive dork who was always a bit uncertain of how welcome her friendship was to anyone. He felt honored she was going through the effort of offering it to him, but had a feeling it would be a bad idea to say anything of the sort. Befriending her reminded him of befriending Steve-it required a lot of patience and a certain measure of simply acting like they were longtime friends to make the other party comfortable. He had a feeling, though, that her friendship would be just as valuable as Steve’s, no matter how hard-won. Figuring she would be most comfortable with a joke, he flopped his head into her lap as dramatically as possible.

“Sing me Russian lullabies,” he demanded. “Make all the scary things disappear!” As he had hoped, Natasha laughed that full laugh they had never heard in the office.

“Russian isn’t exactly the most comforting language,” she told him. “And if you actually sleep on me, I’m drawing on your face.”

“Nope, you don’t have a marker!” he crowed triumphantly, flopping on her to better pin her down. Quite abruptly, he remembered he was possibly flirting with a woman who was in a very committed relationship, but secondarily realized she thought he was in one as well, so if she was fine with what they were doing, he hadn’t crossed any lines. Natasha stopped him from thinking too hard by flipping him entirely off the bed, an impressive move from someone so much smaller than him.

“Damn, girl, are you some kind of ninja?” he asked when he caught his breath. She was peering worriedly over the edge of the bed at him, but grinned once he started speaking.

“Everyone in Russia must train to serve the glorious motherland,” she told him, purposefully thickening her accent. “Is great honor, to overthrow Americans.”

“You’re terrible,” he informed her, climbing back onto his side of the bed. “Absolutely the worst. I’m going to make sure you never get fed at the company 4th of July picnic again.” She laughed her beautiful laugh again, settling back into the pillows.

“You won’t,” she said confidently. “You’re too nice.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t do that to a friend,” he tossed out casually. Natasha turned her head to hide a widening smile in her pillow, but he caught it and knew his statement had created the desired effect.

“Goodnight, friend,” she nearly whispered.

“Goodnight, friend,” he replied. Yeah, she was definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Nat had to love Saw, after quoting JigSaw in CA:TWS. (I personally share Sam's opinion on the movies. And his opinion of Natasha).  
> EDIT: thanks to a comment and how long it's been since I've seen the movie, I realized she may, in fact, have been referencing War Games and I remembered it wrong. Mea culpa.
> 
> Steve mentioned how Sam instigated their friendship with little apparent effort, but actually that was all calculated, because Sam (perfect human that he is) noticed how socially awkward Steve is and figured the best way to befriend him was to treat him like a stray cat. Basically, he just acts like they are friends and he trusts Steve completely, which makes Steve feel comfortable enough to act the same. The stray cat tactic is similarly effective on Natasha, since she tends to hide behind her aloof exterior, too unsure of herself to initiate a friendship but not realizing her facade is what's keeping people away.
> 
> Oh, and Natasha is head of the marketing department (because she's excellent at knowing what people want and how to give it to them) and Steve is the lead ad designer, and together they can create ads that would make the most devout creationists believe in dinosaurs. In case anyone was wondering why I said they're a powerhouse team at work, waaaay back in maybe chapter 1.
> 
> Next up (eventually):  
> Steve chapter: Sam is the best. I love Sam. Oh, shit, I love Sam!


	9. Steve Always Responds Cleverly to Sudden Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a run to clear his head, comes to terms with some things, and makes a Plan.

Steve really was a morning person, generally incapable of sleeping too long past sunrise no matter how little sleep he had actually gotten. Bucky was evidently no more of a morning person than he had ever been, still snoring softly into his pillow when Steve finally determined he would absolutely not be falling back asleep. It would be a good idea, he decided, to go for a run and take some time alone to process everything. Deeming his sleep clothes suitable workout attire, he borrowed Bucky’s tennis shoes and found his way to the hotel rec center.

It was still slightly surreal, being reunited with his supposedly dead friend. Steve had never been popular, or the head of the class, or much good at really anything besides art and picking fights. Bucky, despite an apparently instinctive understanding of all branches of science, oodles of charisma, and frankly somewhat unfair good looks, had befriended him anyway. It had always amazed Steve, that this boy who could have _anyone else_ chose to stick with tiny, sickly, pugnacious Steve. The moment he had learned of Bucky’s plans to enlist-to go somewhere Steve, with his heart defect and weak lungs and so many other medical issues couldn’t possibly follow-the blond had been unable to silence the insidious voice in his mind. _He's leaving because he's sick of you_ , the voice whispered. _He finally realized he's better off without you_. The pain of abandonment spurred Steve into unprecedented viciousness the night before Bucky left, and Steve’s only solace in the following months was that at least things had ended somewhat on his terms.

Finding out Bucky had still named him as next of kin was the final, crippling blow that may have quite literally killed Steve. He was very aware that Peggy Carter’s friendship was the only reason he was still alive. While he sometimes felt guilty for never being present enough to give things with her a proper shot, he was unspeakably glad she was happy with Angie, even if they had moved across the country.

Bucky’s story about the years they had been apart was incredible and heartrending. Steve had cried more the past night than he had in the last several years, and Bucky hadn’t been in much better shape. It was incredible how easily they had fallen back into their old habits of casual contact and playful banter. There had been awkward moments, where Bucky didn’t remember an old inside joke, or where Steve had forgotten about Bucky’s missing arm and startled at the stump, but for the most part it had been one of the best nights of Steve’s most recent decade.

Steve was jogging much slower than usual, sluggish from staying up too late and distracted by his ruminations, but due to the early hour, he was the only one on the track. That is, until he heard footsteps speeding behind him, and a triumphant ‘on YOUR left!’ as Sam sprinted past him. A startled laugh escaped the blond, and he could see Sam’s almost manic grin as the other man rounded the other side of the track. Steve let him almost catch up, then took off closer to his usual pace-that is to say, he quickly left Sam behind. Sam was still cursing him blue when Steve pulled back up beside him, settling in to match his friend’s pace.

“Morning,” he chirped, purposefully as cheerful as possible. Sam tackled him in retaliation, and Steve hit the ground laughing.

“I don’t know why I ever thought you were a morning person,” he grumbled, trying to get out from Sam’s surprisingly effective pin.

“You’re clearly the grumpiest in the morning.”

“You just bring out the worst in me,” Sam countered breezily, finally rolling to his feet and offering Steve a hand up. His tone remained casual when he asked, “How are you doing this morning?” Steve gave the question the consideration it deserved, and was mildly surprised when the answer was “good, actually.”

Sam smiled again, the magnetic grin that always made Steve want to tell him anything he wanted to know. Fortunately, he didn’t ask any questions to accompany the truth potion smile; just clapped Steve on the shoulder and set off jogging again. Steve settled in beside him, knowing the slower pace would allow him to speak without getting winded. Once he figured out what he wanted to say.

“I guess Natasha told you about me and Bucky?” he finally asked.

“Bucky?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

"James. Bucky is- I used to call him Bucky,” Steve explained. Bucky had explained, the night before, that he started introducing himself as James once he got tapped for Special Forces, because he had hated hearing Steve’s nickname for him coming from so many people who weren’t Steve.

“Right,” Sam nodded. “How you two were best buddies, but haven’t seen each other for awhile.”

“That’s… basically it,” Steve conceded. Sam didn’t need the full load of his drama.

“And you’re really doing okay?” From anyone else, the question would have been invasive, or at least a little rude, but Sam was clearly only offering to talk if Steve wanted to. It was one of the things Steve loved about him. Stopping abruptly in the middle of the track, Steve mentally rewound and repeated his last thought. Yup, still the same.

“What’s up?” The object of Steve’s suddenly realized affection had stopped as well and was now looking at Steve in concern. Steve’s brain simultaneously tried to grind to a halt and leap into overdrive to come up with a response other than “I think I love you.” The result was a gaping face and some noises reminiscent of a broken See-N-Say. Sam got closer, putting a friendly hand on Steve’s shoulder and peering at his face.

“Seriously, man, do you need to sit down?” Numbly, Steve let Sam lead him to one of the weight benches in the center of the track and sit him down. Processing power still occupied with this latest revelation on top of the tumult of the night before, the larger man sat staring into the distance while Sam jogged off to grab him a cup of water.

“Did you overtax yourself?” The accented voice brought Steve back to the present, and he found himself face-to-face with Alexi, keynote speaker and apparently Natasha’s ex.

“Just didn’t get as much sleep as I could’ve,” Steve replied ruefully, pulling himself together enough for public consumption. “Having a slow start.”

“Still, it is admirable to exercise on a vacation,” Alexi offered, settling onto the weight machine next to him. Steve wondered if he was supposed to be impressed with the amount of weight Alexi was moving. The man’s tank top showed off his muscles in a way that Steve’s sleep shirt didn’t, but remembering how rude Alexi had been to Natasha made Steve wish for his usual tight shirts. He didn’t always have a lot of body confidence, but he knew he was physically impressive enough to show up the slimmer Russian. Fortunately for Steve’s childish impulses, Sam returned with a bottle of water.

“You feelin’ better, babe?” he asked, and Steve felt himself flushing at the pet name. Apparently they were doing the couple thing in front of everyone, even one strange Russian in the gym. Not that Steve was going to object, given the pleasant little lurch his insides did whenever Sam nicknamed him. Oh, he probably should’ve noticed that yesterday. He really was oblivious.

“I think I’m about done working out. Thanks for the water though, sweetheart.” Steve barely hesitated before the endearment, hoping it wasn’t obvious. Sam just bumped his shoulder with a knowing grin, though, so he figured they were on the same page. Fake relationship page, but at least they were on the same one. _Get it together, Rogers!_ he ordered himself.

“You two are friends with my Natalia, are you not?” Alexi asked, standing up from his machine so they weren’t looming over him. Sam raised an eyebrow, but Steve beat him to his inevitably snarky reply, rankled by the unwarranted possessiveness in the man's tone.

“We’re friends with Natasha, yeah. And her _boyfriend_.” Alexi seemed unimpressed.

“Natalia loved me more than she could possibly love that American slob,” he said dismissively. “She will remember soon enough. But since you mention her current infatuation, I have a favor to ask of you.” Steve was bristling at the insults to Bucky and to Natasha’s awareness of her own feelings, but Sam put a quelling hand on his arm.

“What sort of favor?” His voice was utterly calm, and only the strength of his grip on Steve showed that he was reacting at all.

“Your Mr Coulson has promised me Natalia’s assistance, should I need it. I expect to require her presence quite a lot, for business purposes.” Alexi’s smile was exactly the sort that looked best punched off a face.

“We’re all here for business,” Sam responded, still completely relaxed.

“I’m so glad you understand,” Alexi purred, and Steve wondered what exactly he thought Sam was understanding. “So, I will not want this boy Natalia is towing around to be in my way. It would be best if he was distracted.”

“You want us to keep him out of your way,” Steve said flatly.

“It would greatly convenience me,” Alexi agreed. “And I would make it worth your while.” Sam’s ever-expressive eyebrow shot up, and Alexi continued. “I am heir to a rather successful company. I can afford to compensate you for your time and effort.”

“It’s always nice to make a mutually beneficial deal,” Sam replied with a grin almost as sharklike as Natasha’s scariest. He shook Alexi’s hand, then casually looped his arm around Steve’s waist. “Let’s hit the showers and the breakfast buffet, babe.” Nodding curtly to Alexi, Steve allowed his imagination a split second to run wild on the image of doing both of Sam’s suggested activities together. He shut the thoughts down quickly, rather than be forced to take a cold shower. Still, Sam’s hand didn’t leave the small of his back the whole way back to their room, and a tiny, dumb smile didn’t leave Steve’s face.

"What an ass," Sam spat once they were safely in the hall.

"He's kind of the worst," Steve agreed. "But I can't help noticing you didn't seem too offended at him offering us money to keep Bucky out of his way."

"You know the saying about fools and money?" Sam asked, his dangerous grin reappearing. Steve nodded, and fell a little bit more in love as Sam continued. "I'm all about getting him to 'compensate' me for keeping James out of his way, because you can bet I'm going to do everything I can to make sure he accomplishes zero percent of his skeezy plan."

By this point they had reached their room, and strategizing was put on hold to wrangle the door open. Reentering their hotel room forced them to finally break contact, though it was quickly regained when Steve stopped in the doorway and Sam bodily ran into him.

“Good morning?” he greeted cautiously. Natasha grumbled something in Russian into the pillow, then abruptly pushed herself off the bed.

“Steve?”

“And Sam,” the shorter man piped up, peeking over Steve’s shoulder. Natasha climbed out from under the comforter, attempting to tidy her hair.

“Are those my clothes?” Steve asked.

“You slept in my bed, I slept in your clothes,” she snapped, fussing with the little hotel coffee maker.

“You slept in my bed, too,” Steve felt compelled to point out.

“And with your boyfriend,” the redhead replied, waggling her eyebrows salaciously. Steve was pretty sure the only appropriate response was to over-dramatically clutch at his heart and gasp.

“Say it’s not so!” he demanded, turning to Sam. Anything Sam would’ve said was cut off by a muffled thump from the next room.

“Jamie’s awake,” Natasha drawled, inhaling the steam from her coffee. Sure enough, Bucky opened the adjoining door a few seconds later, looking mildly panicked. His hair was in complete disarray, and the comforter from the bed was still tangled around one of his legs. Steve guessed the thump had been Bucky failing to completely extricate himself before standing. It was nice to know some things hadn’t changed since they were preteens.

“’Talia?” Bucky croaked, voice full of sleep. The rest of his statement was Russian, but sounded just as sleepy with a mild undertone of panic. He stopped mid-word when Natasha held out the second cup of coffee she had made. Too chilled to spend the night shirtless, Bucky had put on a sweatshirt at some point in the night, but his left sleeve was still empty. He didn’t seem to have noticed that Sam-now the only one in their group who didn’t know about his missing limb-was in the room.

“Mornin’, Buck,” Steve offered, almost as obnoxiously as he had greeted Sam earlier. Bucky visibly startled to see the other two men in the doorway, spilling a bit of coffee on his hand.

“Stevie,” Bucky’s answering grin was so full of relief, Steve wondered if he had woken up thinking he had dreamed the night before. Abruptly the grin dropped, and Bucky’s next greeting was much more sober. “Sam.”

“Bucky,” Sam replied cheerfully. “Or should I stick with James?”

“I’m still calling him James,” Natasha interjected, sliding an arm around her somewhat frozen boyfriend. Steve noticed she had deliberately positioned herself to block his empty sleeve from Sam’s view. “Bucky is a stupid name, especially for a grown man.”

“In my defense, I was pretty young when I came up with it,” Steve shot back. Bucky was still clearly processing things very slowly, since he only just managed to reply to Sam.

“James is fine,” he said weakly, then gulped down his coffee in one go.

“Feel better?” Natasha asked archly. Bucky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head.

“I burned my tongue,” he said plaintively.

“Well, I’m sure Natasha can kiss it better for you,” Sam said, moving further into the room purposefully. “But we were out running and need to wash up. Breakfast service starts soon, and if we don’t hurry there won’t be anything left.” Having someone direct things got the other three moving. Natasha shoved Bucky back into their room, but grabbed Steve by the sleeve as he started for his bag.

“Let’s have breakfast together?” she asked. There was a hesitance in her voice he had almost never heard before, and he recognized it as the tone she used when she wasn’t sure of her welcome in someone’s company. Suddenly realizing how rudely he and Bucky had excluded her last night, Steve smiled as warmly as he could.

“I’d like that, Natasha.” He was rewarded with an answering smile, equal parts friendly and relieved. Steve was certainly a major part of Bucky’s past, but Natasha was his present, and if Steve wanted to be that as well, he vowed to be sure to never exclude Natasha again.

“You want first shower?” Sam asked as the door shut behind the other two. Steve rapidly remembered his earlier revelation and hoped Sam didn’t notice him blush as he declined the offer. Natasha and Bucky aside, Steve had a truly excellent friendship with Sam. Not to mention a full week of built in excuses to be as affectionate as he wanted…

Steve spent the rest of the time before breakfast mulling things over, and by the time the quartet met back up in the hallway, he had a mostly-formed plan. This week, Steve Rogers was going to rebuild his relationship with Bucky Barnes, improve his friendship with Natasha Romanov, and seduce Sam Wilson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to launch a weather balloon today, but that got cancelled so I sublimated my disappointment by writing more. The plot is beginning to coalesce more firmly than my little one line previews, so that's (probably) a good sign. 
> 
> I couldn't figure out a way to casually drop it in, but the way Sam pins Steve on the track is the way Nat pinned him during the tickle 'fight,' because she's secretly a ninja, but he's a quick study.
> 
> Basically Alexi is the very worst kind of dudebro, who is actually way less impressive than he thinks he is, and while me feelings about 616 Red Guardian are mixed, I will greatly enjoy systematically destroying this version:D
> 
> Up next: Nat chapter: Sam IS the best. And vacation Steve is fantastic, I want to see him and James kiss.


	10. Natasha is not actually the most devious one here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's day does not go according to plan, but it turns out her boys are more devious than she ever expected.

James was emanating waves of anxiety by the time Natasha got him back into their room and got the door shut. Knowing there were any number of things that could be bothering him, she decided her best course of action was to wait him out. To that end, she busied herself getting ready for the day, casually pulling out clothes for him as well.

"Do you want a shower before breakfast?" she asked.

"He didn't say anything," James burst out, instead of replying. Natasha gave him the nearly blank look he knew to interpret as 'continue.'

"Sam. Steve's _boyfriend_. He didn't say anything to me." James explained. He started pacing while she tried to decide what his emphasis on 'boyfriend' had meant. Was it surprise that Steve had one, or was it envy?

"Technically, he said several things," she pointed out in her most helpful tone. The desired effect was achieved when he stopped pacing to glare at her.

"Fine," he grumbled, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "He didn't say anything about my arm, or the fact that I stole his boyfriend for the night. Yanno, things someone could reasonably expect a person to mention!" Natasha knew James really didn't need this sort of stress on top of his already existing feelings about the trip in general, so she gently pulled him onto the bed to brush his hair. No matter how tough he was trying to be, James was incapable of staying unresponsive to someone he trusted playing with his hair. True to form, his shoulders relaxed under her ministrations, and Natasha swore he'd be purring if he could.

"As far as Sam knows, he spent the night with your girlfriend," she pointed out. "He's a very laid back guy. And he and Steve have a really solid relationship-they've been friends for years. Obviously Sam trusts him."

"He must not have noticed my arm," James murmured, clearly unwilling to be completely calmed.

"Or, he must not be a complete asshole," Natasha countered, somewhat sharply. "James, the world is not going to treat you like a sideshow freak. My coworkers are not going to stare at you. Our friends are not going to _care_ that you only have one hand." Instead of replying, he turned to tuck his face into the crook of her neck. The way she had perched behind him to brush his hair meant he was practically in her lap, so she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"'M sorry," he told her, and she could feel him inhale to continue on what she was sure would be a familiar extended apology. Rather than let him, she nosed at the side of his head so he looked up to meet her eyes.

"Stop," she ordered. "It's early, you're tired, it's been an eventful few days. I understand your worry about Sam, because you don't know him, but I do know him, and he's a good guy. You have nothing to worry about, okay?" James nodded, finally smiling a little.

"You're so good to me, doll, you know that?" he asked fondly. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her again. He did, but lightly, a friendly peck on the cheek. Telling herself she wasn't disappointed, Natasha shoved James back to his feet and bolted for the bathroom as casually as possible.

Of course James hadn't been about to kiss her, she rationalized, going about her preparations for the day. He only kissed her the day before because they had an audience. It wasn't like it had been their first kiss, or anywhere near their best-he had surprised her, and holding the pose was somewhat distracting. Not to mention, he had been hesitant in a way he never used to be, clearly (to her, at least) uncertain if he was crossing a line. She had meant to talk about it the night before, tell him it was absolutely acceptable and an excellent move on his part, but they had gotten rather distracted.

While it wasn't their first kiss, Natasha realized suddenly, it _was_ their first since he lost his arm. She had been too preoccupied with Alexi when she and James had first met (and, she knew now, he had been too preoccupied with Steve) for them to form any sort of romantic attraction, but two young, attractive people in a dangerous line of work had a certain fated romanticism about it, and they had managed a fairly healthy friends-with-benefits deal. She hadn't wanted to push him back into that while he was in recovery and physical therapy, and eventually she figured he wasn't interested anymore. Only now was she realizing he may have lacked the confidence, despite her constant reassurances of friendship and affection. Perhaps, she mused, it was time to try harder to prove her interest.

Natasha exited the bathroom fully put-together and prepared to conquer everything in her path, as usual. She had budgeted in time to help James with his prosthetic, wanting to put some gauze over the spots that had been rubbed raw by the twisted straps the day before, but surprisingly found herself unneeded. James was explaining the mechanics of the device to Steve, who was helping wrap the straps around the brunet's back. Sam was presumably still in the other room, and Natasha wondered (a little bitterly) if she should make herself scarce too. James hardly ever allowed anyone to touch his arm, and here he was cracking jokes about it with a man he hadn't seen in ten years. Steve caught sight of her just as he wrapped his arms entirely around James's torso, standing closer than the task technically required. To his credit, he didn't jump away guiltily, but a faint blush started to form across his face.

"I was just helping Bucky with his arm," the blond explained redundantly. Natasha smirked, deciding her best course of action was, as usual, merciless teasing.

"That seems pretty evident," she drawled, tidying away her belongings. "Are you keeping him warm, too?"

This did make Steve draw back, and James frowned a little. It caused a twinge of guilt in Natasha's stomach-he had been smiling so widely before.

"If you'd rather I keep my hands to myself..." Steve started, his tone formal in the way she had learned signified his discomfort with a situation, and the guilt intensified.

"Steven," she interrupted firmly. "You and James are grown men. You are capable of making your own decisions. Furthermore, you are both friends of mine, and it would be stupid of me to not want you to get along, in whatever form that getting-along manifests." Steve's shoulders relaxed, and so did the knot in Natasha's gut.

"If we make her uncomfortable, she'll tell us plainly," James interjected. His tone made it clear that as much as he was reassuring Steve, he was telling Natasha what he expected of her. She nodded, and Steve smiled.

"We were always handsy, as kids," he started, then hastily corrected himself when she arched an eyebrow. "Not like that! We were just the kind of friends who were all over each other, and I guess I didn't think about not being that way again."

"It's hardly anything odd," Natasha agreed, leading the other two into the hall to meet Sam. "Our friend Kate is a big fan of what she calls 'cuddle puddles,' so neither of us tends to be territorial."

"When it comes to friends," James amended. "If Shostakov gets too close, I might deck him."

"Now that is a sentiment I can get behind," Sam chimed in, coming out of his and Steve’s room. “Everybody ready for breakfast?”

“Lead on, sweetheart,” Steve proclaimed with a grand gesture, using his non-gesturing hand to grab one of Sam’s. The shorter man’s grin widened at the contact, bumping the blond’s shoulder companionably.

“Tryin’ to get a head start on cute today, Steve?” James teased, words flavored with more Brooklyn than she had ever heard from him.

“Buck, we got a head start on cute when Sam was BORN,” Steve shot back. “Have you seen the man?” Said man flashed his cheesiest grin back at the other couple, and they spent the rest of breakfast sniping at each other to determine who had the cutest partner.

James got a bit of whipped cream from his waffles on his nose (quite possibly entirely by accident) and Natasha kissed it off. In retaliation, Steve tried to feed Sam a bite of his food, but instead stabbed him in the cheek with the spoon when James kicked him under the table. Natasha estimated they were roughly three words away from an all-out food fight when the company president called everyone’s attention to the front of the room.

It was well known that Nick Fury, CEO of E&L, hated the company retreats. The VP, Coulson, was in charge of everything, and all he required of Fury was the occasional signature and, of course, at least two direct interactions with the staff. Everyone knew Fury didn’t want to be speaking, but it had become a sort of tradition for Coulson to keep him at the podium for as long as possible. To that end, Coulson was flitting from table to table, encouraging family members and employees alike to ask questions, respond to Fury’s rhetorical statements, and generally be the most interactive audience outside of an improv club.

Breakfast lasted nearly three hours (a personal best for Coulson) before Fury interrupted one of the interns and stormed out of the room, yelling “Coulson will handle all further questions” over his shoulder.

“Is this what work is like for you?” James demanded. The other three laughed, but no one managed to reply before they were interrupted by a much less welcome voice.

“Do you not work, to be so unfamiliar with the goings-on?” Alexi asked, voice practically dripping condescension. Steve stiffened immediately, and Natasha got the feeling that Sam’s hand on his leg under the table was the only thing keeping Steve’s temper in check.

“I don’t work for E&L,” James told Alexi, then suddenly turned overly apologetic. “Oh, did you think all American offices are exactly the same? Pal, I hate to have to tell you, but ‘The Office’ wasn’t really a documentary.” Natasha, Sam, and Steve all tried very hard not to even crack a smile at James’s earnest face, but Alexi’s lip curled in disgust.

“ _Natalia, I will require your assistance today_ ,” he said peremptorily, switching to Russian on the assumption the others couldn’t understand him. She settled into the crook of James’s arm, wondering how she had found him commanding when he was obviously just bossy. Alexi huffed impatiently when she didn’t respond. “ _Natalia, your boss insisted you would be at my disposal._ ”

“I don’t speak Russian,” Steve interjected, face and voice more wholesome than a man his size should be able to manage, “but it sounds like you keep saying ‘Natalia.’”

“It does sound like that,” James agreed, and Sam nodded.

“It must not be, though,” Steve said dismissively, sitting back in his chair but still pinning Alexi with a stare. “Natasha told you not to call her that, and I can’t believe you’d be so rude at to press the issue.” Alexi gaped at Steve for a moment, obviously completely unprepared to be challenged. Eventually he decided to deal with it by his usual method of ignoring problems, so he once again addressed Natasha, still in Russian.

“Natasha,” he slightly emphasized the non-familiarized name, “ _would you be so kind as to come with me? I have a meeting with your bosses and told them you would be there._ ” Natasha’s stomach sank at the prospect of spending a day within Alexi’s reach, but James drew her in. He kissed the side of her head, then whispered in her ear while she was close.

“Will you be alright, doll?”

“I think I can handle a day,” she murmured back, turning her head so their foreheads touched. “But keep your phone on, in case I need you to call with an emergency?” James huffed a laugh and kissed her, on the mouth this time. It was still gentle, but the way his hand slid up her back to cradle her head made her whole body thrum happily.

“If I may borrow Miss Romanov?” Coulson’s voice cut in. Natasha barely managed to restrain herself from glaring at him, smiling icily instead. Coulson continued just as blandly, ever unaffected by everything. “The senior executives are having a meeting with Mr. Shostakov this morning, and he has requested your assistance translating. I’m sure Steve and Sam can keep your boyfriend company.”

The way he pronounced the last sentence seemed to imply he was sending James along to chaperone the other two, still oddly protective of Steve. Natasha almost laughed.

“We’ll keep him out of trouble,” Sam said breezily, smile so trustworthy he could’ve sold the Brooklyn Bridge to the most hardened con man. Reluctantly, Natasha followed Coulson and Alexi to the meeting. 

*

*

*

Overall, it could’ve been much worse. Fury was presiding over the meeting, and he kept Alexi so far on his toes the Russian barely had a seductive comment to spare for his supposed translator. Since breakfast had run so long, they decided to forgo lunch and just wait until dinner, so she didn’t see her three friends again until she caught up to them in the buffet line. Alexi had tried to persuade her to go to a restaurant with him, but she had taken a page out of his book and simply walked away faster than he could catch her.

“Natasha!” Steve practically lit up when he caught sight of her coming towards them. Sam and James looked up and smiled with eerie synchronization, and that coupled with her relief at being away from Alexi made Natasha burst into helpless laughter. Their confused expressions only made her laugh harder, until she was leaning against Sam trying to catch her breath. Steve had herded them out of the way of the buffet line, but they were getting strange looks all the same.

“How was your day, doll?” James asked her, unthinkingly translating her nickname along with the rest of the statement.

“Did you just call her ‘doll’?” Darcy interrupted, stepping out of line to join them. “Are you even real? Natasha, where did you find him?”

“In an alley behind a bar,” Natasha replied flippantly, and Darcy’s resulting cycle of facial expressions had all four of them in fits of laughter.

Their general amusement attracted the attention of several other coworkers, and they ended up seated with a group for dinner. The normally abstract but insanely intelligent head of research, Jane Foster, was apparently a fountain of bad ideas when placed between her best friend Darcy and her boyfriend, the improbably named Thor, so Nat and her boys didn’t start back to their rooms until much later in the night.

“I can’t believe Maria made Sitwell to sing Michael Jackson to her.” Sam was still chuckling at the antics of his coworkers.

“I can’t believe Sitwell knew all the dance moves,” Natasha added in. “Or that he did them.”

“I can’t believe you made me sing our high school fight song,” Steve grumbled.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t learned not to bet against me,” James responded smugly.

The rambunctious dinner group had taken over an unused storage space in the hotel basement, and set about rigging whatever they could find into makeshift carnival games. Deciding just the games was too little entertainment, they had quickly started betting on all of the outcomes, forcing the losers to do whatever ridiculous task they could come up with, mostly karaoke songs. Since the room lacked an actual karaoke machine, James had rigged Darcy’s phone up to the PA system for the room and they had found music on YouTube. Darcy and James were almost as dangerous a combination as Darcy, Jane, and Thor.

Natasha had made sure to only take bets she knew she could win, as usual, but Steve seemed to have no such reservations. Or at least, he was incapable of turning down a challenge if James issued it. Consequently, James had beat him at every game in the room, forcing Steve to recall their high school song with increasing energy, until Sam and Thor had devised a little dance that went to the music. Of course, everyone now had videos of Steve doing the dance. James had promised to send it to the school board and see if they could make it official. His offer to set Steve up with a job interview to be mascot, however, had resulted in the most vicious noogie Natasha had ever witnessed.

Steve and James-and Sam, to an extent-had gotten increasingly friendly over the course of their day together. They were all three smiling and laughing freely, and their good mood was so infectious Natasha felt all the stress of the day melting away the longer she was in their company.

Her carefree mood was dampened as soon as she saw Alexi in the lobby as they headed back to their rooms. Natasha immediately tucked her head under James’s chin, tugging Steve’s sleeve so his bulk blocked her line of sight and she could completely ignore the Russian, but Sam, to her complete surprise, headed directly for Alexi.

“What is he DOING?” she hissed, and Steve just smiled mysteriously at her and ushered them into the staircase. Natasha hated not being the most mysterious person in the room.

“Steve, seriously, why's he talking to him now?” James asked, brow furrowed. Steve’s mysterious smile grew, and James withdrew his arm from Natasha’s shoulders to pounce on Steve’s back. The blond caught him with minimal fumbling, so James was getting an impromptu piggyback ride.

“Well this is definitely something you couldn’t do when we were kids,” James wheezed, apparently having knocked his own breath out on Steve’s back.

“Not like you would’ve tried,” Steve retorted. “Big lug like you jumpin’ on me woulda killed me.” 

"Oh, are we making fun of how tiny Steve used to be?” Sam asked, catching up to them like he hadn’t just betrayed Natasha to her least favorite person. He was grinning as he opened the door to his and Steve’s room, and since Steve was carrying James in, Natasha followed.

“Steve was REALLY little when we were kids,” James informed her as the man in question tossed him onto the bed.

“That’s lovely, and I’d love to see pictures,” she replied sweetly, then turned to Sam. “But first, WHAT THE FUCK, SAMUEL?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and Steve and James scooted back against the headboard as if to get out of the way of her rage. 

"You mean, why was I talking to Alexi?” Sam clarified, still calm as ever. Natasha nodded sharply.

“Was it about earlier?” Steve piped up, and Natasha whirled on him.

“What happened earlier,” she ground out, not even managing the inflection of a question. She had been so determined not to let Alexi ruin her trip, but if he was going to come between her and her budding friendships, she might have to light something on fire. Something 6 feet tall and Russian.

“Shostakov met us in the gym this morning,” Sam explained, drawing Natasha’s attention again. “Offered us money to keep James out of his way so he could monopolize your time.” Natasha was nearly speechless with fury. She turned to James, expecting him to be equally angry, and was puzzled to see he was still completely calm, letting Steve try to braid a small section of his hair.

“And you…” she was too mad to even contemplate the end of that sentence. She had trusted these two!

“We figured we didn’t have much chance to explain anything to you this morning,” Sam continued, his tone soothing. “So we went ahead and kept James around. Shostakov gave me $100, too.” He held up a crisp $100 bill with an even crisper smile.

“What he doesn’t know,” the clearly Machiavellian man continued, “is that Steve and I find him utterly repellent, and have no intention of actually assisting him. But, if he wants to give me money until he figures that out, that’s absolutely not my problem.” The wheels in Natasha’s head began turning again, and she connected the dots almost immediately.

“You’re playing him,” she said with a grin. “You’re going to take him for whatever he’ll give you, aren’t you?”

“Yup!” Sam replied cheerfully. “Figure it’s only fair to split it, though, since the plan ultimately involves everyone.”

“There’s a plan?” Natasha had gone from furious to delightedly intrigued, and she settled half on the bed, half on James’s lap to hear Sam out.

“Well, the taking as much money as we can part was my idea,” Sam explained, stretching out on the bed to rest his head on Steve’s thigh. “But the rest of the plan was all Steve.”

“So, Shostakov is using you as a translator, right?” Steve asked rhetorically, moving to braid a bit of Natasha’s hair since it was longer. “And as far as the bosses are concerned, he just needs some help with his English. We happen to have another Russian translator available.” Natasha’s cheeks were beginning to hurt with how hard she was smirking. These boys were downright devious!

They continued sketching out the plan for a bit longer, but were forced to admit they all needed sleep after staying up so late the previous night. Natasha gathered James from where he had dozed off on Steve’s shoulder, and the other two stood up to see them to the door-a sweet gesture, considering it was only a few steps.

“I’m not sure I’ll be any good at this,” James blurted out as they were in the midst of saying their goodnights. The other three looked at him quizzically until he explained himself.

“I can translate fine, but all the other stuff we were talking about…what if I’m no good and I mess up everything?” Natasha was about to start in on restoring his confidence, but Steve beat her to it. Looping an arm around the brunet’s neck, the blond kissed his temple firmly before moving his chin to make their eyes meet.

“You’ll do great, Buck,” he reassured, voice full of affection. “You’re the best man for the job, and no matter what, you’ve got us all backing you up. Okay?”

“Yeah,” James’s answer was soft, his smile softer. Natasha wasn’t sure if she wanted to look away or stare at them forever. When she finally settled in for the night, curling around James the way she had so many other nights, that image was the last thing to cross her mind before she drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one's a little bit longer than most of the others. I just got really excited to write the next one, but had to finish this one first. Hopefully it doesn't come off as rushed, but I did need to move them through a larger chunk of time than the chapters have generally been covering.
> 
> Turning storage spaces into impromptu arcades it really fun, especially if it doesn't matter if you break stuff. Make friends with the maintenance people, especially in large buildings or campuses. They have the best storage spaces, and usually lots of junk sitting around.
> 
> Forcing your friends to sing karaoke is also an entertaining pastime. I feel like Maria Hill is the sort of woman you never want to have dare you to do something, because it could be anything, from singing and dancing a Michael Jackson song to a series of seemingly unrelated tasks that instigate a coup d'etat in a small country. So really, Sitwell got off lucky.
> 
> Okay, next chapter: Sam chapter: Dunno what Steve’s up to but I like it. And I like James, he’s pretty cool. Also, fuck that Alexi guy.
> 
> Not sure when it'll be up, hopefully later this week. Also, thank you for all the comments and stuff. Sorry if my replies come through weird, but I like to respond to them on my phone while I'm on the bus, and I don't know what that does to things. Not to mention I'm barely awake on the bus in the morning.


	11. Sam is Terrible at Acronyms but Excellent at Passive-Aggressive Rudeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky bond over bad jokes and wrecking Alexi's day.

Sam woke up more comfortable than he had for some time, and it took his sleepy brain a few seconds to figure out why. He had always loved the plush, velvet-soft blankets nicer hotels put on their beds, and he was wrapped snugly in his and Steve’s. He was also wrapped snugly around Steve, who was apparently trying to extricate himself without waking Sam.

“Morning,” the blond whispered, a pale imitation of his typical over-the-top greeting. Sam briefly debated pretending he was still mostly asleep and keeping a hold of the surprisingly comfortable pile of muscles in his arms, but eventually decided not to be rude.

“Morning,” he replied, retracting his arms and rolling off the other side of the bed. Still conditioned from his years in the Air Force, Sam was functionally alert by the time his feet hit the floor. Surprisingly enough, Steve hadn’t actually gotten out of the bed, but was sitting with his elbows propped on his slightly drawn-up knees.

“We running this morning?” Sam asked, checking the time. They still had an hour and a half before breakfast, and the gym was likely to be relatively empty until then. Steve nodded the affirmative, but didn’t move to get up, so Sam decided that meant he got the bathroom first. Having decided to take his proven tack of behavior to put Steve at ease-namely, pretend nothing is wrong-Sam didn’t say anything about how the pair had woken up. Steve, as expected, didn’t mention it either, and their run felt like countless others they’d had. Sam griped at Steve for trying too hard, Steve quipped that Sam wasn’t trying hard enough, Sam tried to step on Steve’s shoelaces, Steve threatened to throw Sam over his shoulder and spin until Sam got sick. It was good fun (and good exercise), made all the better for not running into Alexi this morning.

Steve casually wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist on the way back to their room, meaning the only comfortable place for Sam’s pinned arm was around Steve’s waist. The larger man had been more affectionate since yesterday morning, and Sam caught himself wondering if Steve was trying to make up for being such an inattentive boyfriend the night before. Except, they weren’t actually dating. So why was Steve acting so much like they were, even when no one was around to see?

The initial plan, as far as Sam had outlined, was to vaguely let Coulson think they were a couple. It had apparently gotten quite out of hand, but neither of them was stopping it. Sam certainly wasn’t going to complain at a chance to get up close and personal with Steve’s rather exceptional physique. And judging by the fingers skimming his side, Steve didn’t have a problem with Sam’s physique, either.

* * *

 

“You comfy back there?” Sam asked drily. The pair were waiting in the hall for James and Natasha, so Steve draped himself over Sam’s back, chin on the shorter man’s shoulder.  He'd never known Steve to be this affectionate with anyone-not that he’d ever seen the blond interact with many people.

Sam sometimes forgot that not everyone had the extensive family and social groups he did. Steve had mentioned, once, something about wishing he had siblings like Sam did, and he’d avoided talk of parents in a way that made Sam assume they were no longer around. The only people Steve ever seemed to even bring up other than coworkers were his friends Peggy and Angie, who lived in California. For someone who had spent his life surrounded by family, multiple groups of friends, and his brothers-at-arms in the Air Force like Sam had, that kind of existence was unimaginable.

“You’re the perfect height for this,” Steve replied happily. “I should probably keep you around.”

“Were you going to get rid of me until you noticed how useful I am?”

“Probably not,” Steve admitted, tugging Sam the tiniest bit closer. “I like having you around.” Sam’s stomach did a happy little swoop, and his answering grin was probably a little bit dopey.

“Well, you’re in luck. It turns out I don’t hate being around you.” Sam could feel Steve grinning into his shoulder and hoped he could use the light mood to ask the question that had been weighing on him for awhile.

“So James is your old best bud, right?”

Steve nodded in response. Sam probably wouldn’t have noticed how slightly he tensed up if the two weren’t pressed so close together, but his curiosity propelled him to continue.

“Do you have any other childhood friends we might run into? This whole thing kinda made me realize how you’ve met two of my sisters, half of my old Air Force buddies, and my mom, and I’ve never even heard about anyone you know besides Peggy and Angie.”

Steve tucked his face even further into Sam’s shoulder, staying quiet for just long enough that Sam started to worry he had overstepped.

“I don’t have anyone else.” The response, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper. “Even as a kid, Bucky was all I had. I’m bad at making friends, I always have been.” Steve’s posture was noticeably rigid, like he was waiting for Sam to judge him and find him wanting.

Sam knew, from how many times he had seen it early in their acquaintance, exactly what kind of anxious face Steve was making. Somehow, even after years of friendship, Steve couldn’t stop fearing Sam would get sick of him. Sam didn’t know what else to do but pull Steve’s arms tighter around his waist.

“Well, you’ve got me,” he said, still keeping his tone light. Steve didn’t do well with extremely heartfelt declarations directed at him. “Natasha too, and James again. Not to mention Peggy and Angie. So I’d say you’re in pretty good shape.” Steve squeezed Sam in a brief hug, leaning over his shoulder to plant a kiss on the shorter man’s cheek. Sam was glad he didn’t visibly blush, especially since Natasha and James chose that moment to exit their room.

“When exactly did you two stop being ‘work husbands’ and start being actual boyfriends, anyway?” Natasha asked in lieu of a greeting. She linked her arm through James’s prosthetic and started leading the group towards breakfast, fortunately missing Sam and Steve sharing a mildly panicked look over their lack of a prepared story.

“Work husbands?” James asked. Sam seized the distraction, while Steve seized one of Sam’s hands.

“We kept going to work events together, so people started calling us work husbands,” he explained, twining his fingers with Steve’s.

“That, and the blatant flirting,” Natasha added. Sam didn’t even have to look at Steve to know he was blushing.

“It wasn’t that bad,” the now red-faced man protested.

“It was definitely that bad,” Natasha said flatly.

“What was how bad?” Skye, rising star of the IT department, fell in beside the group as they joined the buffet line for breakfast.

“Sam and Steve’s flirting, apparently,” James responded. Unfortunately, this led to a widespread discussion of how long people in various departments had expected the pair to become an official couple. Turns out Customer Service had started a betting pool, and half of Steve’s design team had thought they were dating for over a year.

“I didn’t even think this many people knew my name,” Steve complained when they were finally left in peace to eat their breakfasts.

“Everyone in the company knows who you are, Steve,” Coulson replied, appearing suddenly next to their table. “You’re one of our top employees.” Sam and Steve jumped, making Natasha and James smirk. Coulson, as usual, was urbanely unruffled by everything.

“Morning, Phil,” Natasha said coolly. She was one of the few people in the company who called Coulson by his first name, and Sam was pretty sure by this point that she only did it because the familiarity threw him slightly off balance.

“Ms. Romanov.” Coulson’s go-to reaction was generally increased formality, as if to offset her lack of it. “James, Sam, I hope you’re all having a nice morning.”

“I’ve had worse,” James said cheerfully. He’d been having fun watching Steve blush all morning.

“Well, we always like our guests to enjoy the retreat,” Coulson continued, businesslike as always. “However, I’m afraid I’ll have to steal Ms. Romanov again today.”

“Another meeting?” Natasha asked, frowning.

“Not exactly,” Coulson explained. “If you read the schedule, you would have seen that today is team break-out day. The departments are splitting up to work within their teams, and Mr. Shostakov is going to be meeting with each group throughout the day. He requested your company as his translator and liaison.” Natasha openly grimaced at the thought of another day in Alexi’s company, and Sam knew it was time to put Operation: Fuck That Smarmy Russian Shitwaffle into action.

Okay, so maybe the name needed a little work.

“Shouldn’t Natasha be working with her team?” he asked. “She is the department head, after all.

“Ideally, yes,” Coulson hedged, “but Mr. Shostakov has requested her assistance, and he is here as a favor to our company…”

“It would help me greatly if you would accompany me today, Natasha,” Alexi purred, sidling up to their table next to Coulson. He nodded to Sam and Steve, but didn’t even bother glancing towards James. The Russian man continued in his native language, obviously ending on a question.

“I wouldn’t want to jeopardize inter-company relations, no,” Natasha ground out in response, eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance.

“If all you need is a translator, I could step in,” James piped up, all wide-eyed eagerness to help. Alexi looked at him with a sneer, his tone clearly derogatory as he asked James a question in Russian. The sneer dropped quite suddenly, however, when James replied in rapid, easy Russian, sounding every bit as comfortable with the language as Natasha ever did.

“Excellent!” Coulson clapped his hands together, apparently oblivious to the near-palpable tension. “If you’re willing to help, James, Natasha can work with her department after all.”

“This man is not familiar with your company,” Alexi protested, thinking fast. “He cannot be as much help in business discussions as an E&L employee would.” Coulson faltered a minute, and Sam granted Alexi his brief triumph before smoothly stepping in.

“I’m an E&L employee,” he pointed out. “Not to mention, I’m not a department head but I am familiar with all of the departments, since I’m in HR. I could go along, in case any company-specific issues come up.”

“Even better,” Coulson declared. “Sounds like a plan!” He clapped Alexi on the shoulder and walked away before the Russian could complain.

“I’d better find my department,” Natasha said, a smirk audible in her voice for all that her face was blank. She pulled James into a sweet, lingering kiss (and DAMN, was that something Sam could stand to see happen) before sauntering away, tossing Sam and Steve a small wave as she went.

“I suppose I should do the same,” Steve said, sliding an arm around Sam’s waist to tug him closer. Sam contemplated turning into the kiss Steve planted on his cheek, but decided that would be taking a bit too much advantage of…whatever he and Steve were doing.

“Have a good day, babe,” he replied, kissing Steve’s cheek in return. The pet name had slipped out, the first time, but Steve’s eyes got a little brighter every time he heard it. Sam would certainly do a lot more than say the occasional endearment to get that look on Steve’s face. Abruptly realizing he was maybe spacing out a little, watching his ‘boyfriend’ walk away, Sam dragged his attention back to Alexi’s face. The Russian did not look amused.

“So, we’ll be attending meetings today?” James asked brightly. Alexi’s displeasure focused on the brunet, who smiled unrepentantly through what Sam could tell was a string of blistering Russian invectives.

“Care to translate that, James?” Sam asked, noticing Fury walking by.

“That will not be necessary,” Alexi snapped, turning to storm away.

“We’ll catch up with you at your first meeting,” Sam called after him. He turned back to James, expecting to share a conspiratorial smirk, only to find the other man’s smile was a bit strained.

“What did he say, anyway?” he asked, taking a stab at what was causing that strain.

“Oh, nothing unexpected,” James drawled, his casualness sounding a little too practiced. “I’m just some slob, not good enough to stand up to him, yada yada.”

“That poor, delusional man,” Sam shook his head ruefully, tone dripping pity. “Thinkin’ it doesn’t go the other way ‘round.” James’s eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at Sam like he was seeing him for the first time.

It was possible, Sam considered, that he hadn’t exactly registered on James’s radar yet. They hadn’t had too much direct interaction, despite spending two days in close proximity. Sam knew he tended to fade into the backdrop when people saw Steve. It made the blond uncomfortable, when they went out, how people’s eyes skipped over Sam to focus on him. Sam understood the appeal, he really did, and with the added revelation of Steve being James’s long-lost friend, it was entirely possible that Sam had only been existing in James’s mind as a footnote to the phenomenon that was Steve Rogers.

If Sam was any less comfortable with himself, it would probably bother him.

If Sam was any more honest with himself, he would admit that it did bother him.

Still, James was noticing him now, and his small smile indicated it wasn’t any sort of bad attention. The pair rose to follow Alexi-Coulson would expect them to be at all of his meetings, whether the Russian wanted them there or not-and fell into step with companionable ease.

“So, Operation Fuck That Smarmy Russian Shitwaffle is off to a good start,” Sam commented offhandedly. James laughed so hard he almost walked into a chair.

“That’s not what we’re calling it,” he said, still laughing. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine then, Mr. Too-Cool-For-My-Codenames, what else have you got?”

“We should call it something badass. Like, Operation Bad Wolf or something.”

“Bad Wolf?” Sam asked incredulously. “Man, I know you did not just shoot down my name for a Doctor Who reference.”

“It was the first thing that came to mind,” James defended. “Give me some time, and I’ll come up with something.”

“Not if all you’ve got is geeky jokes, you won’t.”

“My geeky jokes are better than your weird profanity.”

“It isn’t weird if it’s true!”

“One, weird things can be true and true things can be weird. Two, your name doesn’t even acronym well.”

“Operation,” Sam paused to spell it out in his mind, “FTSRS?”

“Bless you,” James responded solemnly, and the two had to fight the resulting giggles under control as they arrived at Alexi’s first meeting.

“So this is our legal department,” Sam told Alexi, smirking inwardly as the man jumped at his apparently unexpected presence. James stopped behind Alexi’s other shoulder and said something quiet in Russian. Sam assumed James intended to translate everything he said, and had to suppress another fit of giggles.

The legal department consisted of exactly three people; Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, and Karen Page. Matt’s blindness added yet another layer to Alexi’s annoyance, because Foggy was habitually describing people’s nonverbal cues while Karen read all of the printed meeting materials. James translated it all, including any inane company-related tidbit Sam could dredge up to contribute, and by the end of the meeting Alexi was visibly clenching his jaw.

“This is more fun than I expected,” James said in an undertone as they followed Alexi to his next meeting. Sam just grinned in response, busy texting Foggy to explain what exactly had just happened.

“Do you do this kind of thing often?” James asked. “Because I gotta say, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Stevie went and got with a troublemaker.” Sam did laugh at that, clapping James on the shoulder.

“Man, I can’t tell you how good it is to be around someone else who knows what a little shit that man is!”

“Don’t tell me he still does that puppy dog look,” James groaned. “Those baby blues worked better on the Mother Superior than anything I ever came up with.”

“Mother Superior?” Sam asked. James looked mildly surprised.

“Yeah, at the orphanage where we grew up.” Several things suddenly crashed into place in Sam’s mind: the way Steve never mentioned family, the way he tensed so visibly when Sam’s mom had hugged him that one time, the way Steve had asked Sam to be his emergency contact because the form had been blank… Sure, Steve had said earlier that he didn’t have anyone, but Sam hadn’t realized just how long the man had been alone.

“You still in there, Sammy?” James asked, concern flaring in his eyes. Sam shook off his impending sense of idiocy, forcing out a grin.

“We’re visiting R&D next,” he announced gracelessly, catching the door Alexi tried to shut in their faces.

“Hey, Flyboy, shouldn’t you be doing some paperwork?” a teasing voice called, and Sam’s smile stopped being fake.

“What I tell you about callin’ me ‘Flyboy,’ Rhoades?” he called back, all pretense of professionalism dropped. “Don’t use names to show how jealous you are you been grounded longer!”

Former Air Force Colonel and current Head of Research and Development James Rhoades greeted Sam with his customary back slapping hug. R&D had its own complex outside of the city limits, so Sam mostly interacted with them via email or the occasional phone call. Still, at any company event that allowed them to be in the same room, he and Rhoades got along like a house on fire.

“Aww, Rhoady, you never hug me like that,” Tony Stark, resident R&D genius and all-around egomaniac, pouted.

“It’s cause he doesn’t love you like he loves me,” Sam told the older man seriously, but cracked almost immediately to pull Tony into a hug/handshake combo. He greeted Mack similarly, high fived Fitz and Simmons, then rounded out his R&D team greetings by fist-bumping Dr. Banner. James was standing slightly awkwardly by the door, and Alexi was clearly waiting for someone to notice how important he was and greet him.

Unfortunately, the R&D team was completely immune to people expecting their importance to be noticed, thanks to prolonged exposure to Tony. Sam pulled James forward to introduce him around, then as casually as possible, waved his hand toward the Russian man to add “and this is Alexi Shostakov.”

To everyone but Fitz’s surprise, Simmons immediately started speaking to Alexi in Russian, crossing the room to shake his hand. He seemed somewhat taken aback, but replied all the same.

“Is this what she was doing with those language tapes all this time?” Mack asked Fitz in an undertone. Fitz nodded solemnly.

“She wanted to question him about Red Guardian’s animal testing policies in his own language, to avoid miscommunications.” From the way Alexi was shifting uncomfortably and James was barely concealing a grin, Sam guessed Simmons wasn’t going easy on the man.

Rhoades allowed her to continue for a few minutes before calling the meeting to order. He had once confided to Sam (after perhaps one beer too many) that he was fairly certain he had gotten the job not on the strength of his resume, but rather on his ability to wrangle the rest of the team into some semblance of functionality.

As expected, Tony dominated the conversation, inventing words in a blatant attempt to trip up James’s translating efforts. Pretty soon, Simmons had teamed up with James to figure out approximate translations, with the occasional input from the quiet but linguistically talented Bruce. Mack and Fitz had gotten sidetracked into a discussion of the practicality of an invention Tony claimed to be working on, and Sam eventually tuned out the meeting in order to compare pictures of his nieces with Rhoades’s daughters.

When the meeting time was up, Sam half expected Alexi to bolt from the room. He certainly wouldn’t be the first to flee the R&D team. Instead, the Russian practically cornered Simmons as she tried to leave with Mack and Fitz. They were speaking Russian, but Sam recognized the body language of a man attempting to score a date with a woman who was not interested.

James noticed a few seconds later and was about to intercede, a stormy look on his face that promised no end of trouble. However, Mack got there first, simply tucking the petite scientist under one massive arm and leaving the room, not even acknowledging her conversational partner. Everyone stared silently for a moment, until Tony split the atmosphere with a bark of laughter.

“That was amazing,” he choked out, leaning rather dramatically on Bruce’s shoulder for support. “Rhoadey, we need to give that man a raise. Can we give him a raise?”

Sam slung an arm around the still-fuming James’s shoulders, steering him out of the room. Alexi had already made a slightly-too-dignified-to-be-called-a-dash for the next meeting.

“C’mon, man, Marketing and Design is up next,” he cajoled. The other man’s face didn’t lighten, but he allowed the contact.

“That….” James growled out some rude words in a few different languages. Sam pointedly did not notice how attractive that was, and the brunet eventually switched back to English. "He was trying to ask her to lunch, so he doesn't have to sit alone. He probably just wanted to have something to wave in Natalia's face."

“What, do you think he was gonna try and use Simmons to make Natasha jealous?” When James nodded, Sam laughed. “He’s a bit late to hop on that train, don’t you think?”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not entirely slimy.”

“Agreed. But we’ve got Steve and Natasha backing us up in this next meeting. Should be fun, right?”

“She was worried he’d do something like that,” James confided suddenly. Sam raised an eyebrow as an invitation to continue. After a moment of deliberation, James took it. “She was worried he’d show up with some beautiful young new woman on his arm.” Sam couldn’t help it-he laughed outright.

“I adore Jemma,” he said once he regained composure, “but she’d be the worst sort of person to pull something like that with. Look away for three seconds, and she’d be trading scone recipes with the person you’re trying to lord her over.”

“That’s kind of not the point,” James grumbled, but he seemed less upset, so Sam took the victory. They entered the Marketing and Design conference room hot on Alexi’s heels, but the Russian hadn’t managed to corner Natasha like Sam figured he might have tried to.

Apparently Steve had expected the same, because he was bodily blocking Natasha from the rest of the room. The rather large man almost never used his impressive bulk for effect, but he was caging Natasha in so efficiently that had it been anyone else, Sam would’ve felt obliged to intervene. He and James intervened anyway, insinuating themselves into the bubble their partners had formed.

Natasha pulled James in for another short but clearly intense kiss, but Steve simply slid his hand into Sam’s with a light kiss to his cheek. Sam was adamantly not disappointed.

“How’s operation FTSRS?” Steve asked innocently as James and Natasha broke apart. He and Sam managed to stay serious in the face of James’s indignant spluttering for nearly a whole 30 seconds before laughing uproariously. Natasha smirked along with them, though her smile became a bit plastic when Alexi cleared his throat pointedly.

“If I may borrow my translating team?” he asked acidly. Sam and James obligingly introduced him to the rest of the design and marketing crew. Natasha and Steve jointly headed a large enough department that there was little opportunity for any sort of shenanigans. Consequently, it was the most productive meeting of the morning. As much as Sam disliked the man on a personal level, Alexi was clearly a shrewd businessman, and this meeting allowed him a glimpse into Coulson’s reasoning for inviting the Russian to the conference.

The three men converged on Natasha as soon as the meeting disbanded, practically escorting her from the room. They got caught up with several members of the team, and ended up eating lunch with a group of them. It was a fun, casual meal, everyone trying to tell the most ridiculous stories about the department bosses. Everyone was surprised that the marketing boss’s boyfriend and the designer boss knew each other, but James quickly won over everyone at the table (except perhaps Steve) by telling the fabulous story about 14-year-old Steve getting kicked out of the Boy Scouts of America.

Sam and Natasha had been surprised at Steve’s admission of the event during the drive up, but that surprise had nothing on the department’s reaction to the whole story. Half the table was arguing fervently over whether or not to tell Coulson (and who would get to do it if they did) while the other half pelted Steve with questions.

“Where did you even get all the supplies?”

“Seriously, no one asked what a 14-year-old boy wanted with 20 gallons of glitter?”

“How did you not get arrested?”

“Oh, this is my favorite part!” James answered, looking more animated than he had the entire week so far. “He was trying to cart everything to the rec center to set it up, and a cop stopped him because he had a shopping cart from the store.”

“Seriously, how did you not get arrested?” James shot the interrupter a quelling look and waited for a proper dramatic silence to fall.

“The cop asked what he was doing,” the brunet continued, voice serious but eyes screaming mischief, “and Stevie looks at the man, bold as you like, and tells him ‘It’s for a project, officer. _I'm a Boy Scout_.” The table erupted in laughter, and Steve hid his brilliantly red face in the crook of Sam’s neck. The rest of the meal passed in good-natured teasing, and when they stood to head to their afternoon meetings, Steve rounded the table to capture James in a headlock.

“You’re a goddamn jerk, Barnes,” he mock growled, tousling the captive’s long hair.

“Lemme go, punk!” James protested, swinging his arm around to slap ineffectually at Steve’s face.

“Boys,” Natasha cut in coolly, and they stopped tussling immediately. The redhead moved in to tidy her boyfriend’s hair, shooting Steve a look that promised trouble.

“I’d let you carry on,” she drawled, “only I can’t have you getting kicked out. The E&L lobby would look _terrible_ done in rainbow glitter.”

“Don’t gape, babe,” Sam chided, shutting the dumbstruck blond’s mouth with a light fingertip on his chin. “You’ll catch flies.” With a quick kiss for Steve and an unsubtle high-five for Natasha, Sam led James to their next meeting, still laughing.

“That girl is something else,” he told James, voice full of admiration.

“That she is,” James agreed, face caught between dopey adoration and amusement. “That she is.”

* * *

 

 

After lunch, Sam and James tailed Alexi to his meetings with Accounting, IT, and Customer Service. Everything went surprisingly smoothly at the first meeting, but Skye was in the IT meeting and Skye had never made a meeting run smoothly in her life. Sam had met toddlers who asked fewer questions-Skye was certainly Coulson’s protégé in the ‘meeting prolonging’ department.

The Customer Service meeting had quickly devolved into roleplaying scenarios, ostensibly to practice dealing with difficult customers. Unfortunately, E&L had as head of the Customer Service department one Wade Wilson, a man so spectacularly unsuited to his job that people constantly checked for hidden cameras within minutes of first meeting him. Wilson was constitutionally incapable of being in a roleplaying situation without turning it ridiculous, so Sam counted the meeting as a success when no one ended up losing any clothing or being on fire.

“It was one time!” Wilson protested after Sam pointed that out. Alexi very nearly fled the room, but when Sam turned to James for a congratulatory high five, he found the man staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“On fire?” James choked out.

“One time!” Wilson interjected helpfully.

“Man, I gotta show you my email archive sometime,” Sam laughed, thinking of his “This company is SO STRANGE” email chain. He grabbed James’s elbow to lead him towards dinner, having forgotten which side he was standing on. His fingers slid on the sleeve-covered prosthetic and James froze, staring like a deer in the headlights. Sam recovered first, with the ease of long practice being around vets, and got a better grip on the limb. Tugging gently, so as to propel James without injuring him, Sam led the wide-eyed man towards dinner, pretending not to notice his internal struggle.

“You really don’t care?” James’s harsh whisper cut across whatever anecdote Sam had been about to start, but he just smiled his best gap-toothed grin.

“Man, why would I care? You think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen? I was pararescue.” James gave him that appraising look again, the one that made Sam feel like he was really being seen. He tried not to squirm as the other man’s mouth eventually curved into an almost matching grin.

“You’re alright, Wilson,” he said gruffly, clapping Sam on the back. Sam’s smile grew and he returned the gesture.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Barnes.” Natasha had already claimed them a table, though Steve was nowhere to be seen as Sam and James took their seats.

“You look happy,” Natasha told James softly. Sam wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear, but figured if Natasha really wanted privacy, she would’ve spoken Russian.

“It’s been a good day,” James replied, shooting Sam an indecipherable smile. Sam didn’t catch Natasha’s response, as his attention was suddenly claimed by a firm but gentle kiss on the top of his head. The kiss itself wasn’t terribly distracting, except that it was accompanied by a large, warm hand sliding over his shoulder to rest on his chest just long enough for the thumb to trail along his collarbone. Even through the fabric of his shirt, the touch was electrifying.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve greeted, voice low in Sam’s ear. The moment was gone as soon as it happened- Steve moved his hand and greeted the other two in a normal tone. Dinner was much the same as lunch, carefree conversation around the table, and by the end of the meal Sam had mostly convinced himself he was imagining things.

He’d be completely convinced if Steve would stop putting that same large, warm hand on Sam’s knee under the table.

Darcy and Skye were enthusiastically trying to get a group to hit the hotel bar-apparently they had rigged a REAL karaoke machine-but mostly everyone over the age of 25 was begging off. After the late nights he’d been keeping, Sam was glad when Steve leaned into him and mentioned he’d be glad of a quiet night. Natasha must have overheard, since she sent Sam a text that just said “put a sock on the door;)”

Trying not to think of any activities that might necessitate a sock on the door, Sam settled into bed next to Steve. They had, by unspoken agreement, gotten ready for the night even though it wasn’t quite 9 p.m.

“I know we get up early, but this is a ridiculous time to go to bed,” Sam griped. “We’re grown men. We do not need to be asleep by nine.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” Steve offered. He was slumped on his pillows, the angle of his head making those baby blues stare at Sam from under stupidly long lashes.

“Definitely,” Sam agreed, hoping his voice sounded normal. They argued good naturedly about what to watch, finally settling on a “How It’s Made” marathon.

“I love learning all of this stuff,” Steve said with a shy smile, like he thought Sam might call him a dork.

“I used to watch this show on nights when I couldn’t sleep.” Sam hadn’t meant to let that slip out, but Steve’s inquisitive noise meant he was going to continue, because Sam was rapidly losing track of things he wouldn’t do for Steve Rogers.

“When I first got back, I had a lotta bad nights,” he explained, staring at the TV so he wouldn’t have to see Steve’s expression. “Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t barely shut my eyes. This show, it’s real calming. My sis used to TiVo it for background noise when the babies wouldn’t sleep, so she had all these episodes with no commercials… I musta seen every show they’d done.”

Steve was silent for a minute, and Sam felt that familiar resignation of having overburdened someone, that certainty they would withdraw. Unexpectedly, Steve did the opposite, pulling Sam over to his side of the bed until the two were unmistakably cuddling.

“This okay?” the blond asked softly. Sam shifted a little, then allowed himself to sink fully into the embrace. He had woken wrapped around Steve, and was generally the big spoon any time he shared a bed, so it took awhile to remember the last time he had been held like this. It was comforting in a way none of Steve’s words would have been.

“Yeah,” he replied, then cleared his throat to try a little more audibly. “Yeah, this is fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, folks, this chapter, much like my life, is a bit of a mess and has mildly overwhelmed me. Took me til now to get a version I don't think I'll hate having posted, but at least it's sort of long? To make up for the delay.  
> You have my humble gratitude for your patience, and my hopes that this is up to standards.
> 
> As promised, some Bucky/Sam bonding time, plus an absolute shit day for Alexi:D 
> 
> The full story of how Steve Rogers got kicked out of Boy Scouts (or rather, his reaction to it):  
> One of his fellow scouts made a homophobic remark, and Steve, being in actuality the hybrid of a social justice warrior and an angry puppy, could not let it stand. The resulting altercation led to him disavowing the BSA's anti-gay stance, and the troop used his fighting as an excuse to boot him. SJW/puppy Steve wrote lots of angry letters, made lots of angry phone calls, and garnered the attention of some higher-ups of the BSA administration. Unfortunately, they thought the appropriate response was to host an anti-bullying speech at the rec center where Steve's troop met. Steve caught wind of the fact that none of the administrators were actually going to do anything besides make bland, general remarks about kindness, and decided to take action himself. That action was, naturally, getting his tiny hands on paint and glitter in every color, tagging everything with the BSA logo in rainbow colors, and rigging the glitter to fall from the ceiling and stick to everyone who attended the speech. He did, in fact, convince an officer to help him tote his 'project supplies,' but the officer was too embarrassed to admit that he had delivered the materials to the scene of the crime, therefore didn't tell on Steve. Steve, of course, had an airtight alibi, because that tiny sickly boy absolutely couldn't have snuck out of the dormitory, and the other boys (Bucky) swore he was there all night.
> 
> Four bits of that are inspired by real life events! High school was a lot of fun.
> 
> This note might get edited later, but for now, I really need to go to sleep so I'm not a zombie at work tomorrow. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Almost forgot! Next up: Bucky chapter: Sam<3 Also, Natalia is the best thing that's ever happened to me. And she wants the sex?


	12. Bucky learns several things that surprise him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected revelations from Natasha and Sam.

Bucky wandered into wakefulness before his alarm went off, and grudgingly accepted that he was awake and going to stay that way. Natasha, as usual when they shared a bed, had ended up more on top of him than on the mattress. If she wasn't so much smaller than him, she would pin him down, but as it was he found her weight comforting. She burrowed her face into his chest when he stirred, grumbling in protest at being moved. No matter how careful he was, he knew he was going to wake her up if he got up, so he rolled her back onto the mattress as gently as possible.

"Why are you moving?" she demanded grumpily. "The alarm didn't go off. That means no moving yet."

"Sorry, doll, I just woke up and didn't want to sit around twitching under you," he whispered, tidying her tousled hair. Tucking the red locks behind her ear meant he saw the wicked little grin that blossomed across her face at those words.

"You could be doing more than twitching under me," was her sultry reply. Her eyes still weren't fully open, but the look she leveled at him was plainly inviting. Bucky's brain shorted out for a moment, his only clear thought being _please yes_.

"You done sleepin', doll?" he asked, voice hoarse with more than just the remnants of sleep. He leaned over her, putting his weight on his right arm with the intent of cradling her face with his free hand. Before their faces got too close, he froze, suddenly remembering his lack of a free hand.

Natasha pouted a bit, having tipped her face up for a kiss and not received one. She started to close the distance between them, and Bucky's brain came back online. She was still half-asleep, he reasoned, and falling back on old habits. He couldn't, in good conscience, take this any further. To that end he kissed her forehead and was off the bed on his feet before she could catch him.

"The alarm will go off soon," he blurted, drowning out her sleepy protests. "I'm going to shower."

With the bathroom door between himself and his former bedmate, Bucky was able to think a bit more clearly. Obviously, Natasha was just in the mood because of a dream, or something. She tended to wake slowly, so maybe she forgot that sex wasn't something they did anymore. She'd probably be back asleep already, and not remember this when the alarm finally went off.

Not that he knew when that would happen; in the commotion, Bucky hadn't actually checked the time. He hoped it wasn't too early. Still, he was fairly confident that if Natasha went back to sleep, he could just pretend this never happened. She wouldn't feel guilty about offering something she didn't actually want to give-and he had no doubt she wasn't actually interested. Sure, they had slept together plenty before the accident, and her friendship had been his rock throughout the recovery process, but _she had been there for the entire recovery process_.

Bucky didn't have a single scar Natasha hadn't seen. She could probably map the mangled mess of his torso from memory, given how often she had helped him with his physical therapy and his prosthetic. She had been there through every breakdown, every angry outburst, seen him at his lowest and somehow not been driven off. Natasha's support and friendship meant the world to him. She was important to him in the same way Steve had been, all those years before, and he refused to risk making her uncomfortable.

Given how intelligent she was, Bucky was almost certain Natasha knew how he felt about her. Not to mention, she had to know he would be open to adding a physical aspect to their relationship, so if they hadn't yet it was because she wasn't interested. Bucky may have done a lot of less-than-moral thing in his life, but he'd never add to that list by pressuring Natasha into something she didn't want. Having her around as a friend was more than enough, and if she didn't find him attractive, well, he certainly didn't blame her.

By the time his shower was finished, Bucky had nearly talked himself out of the funk he'd been dangerously close to slipping into. Sure, he was kind of mangled, but Natasha still loved him as a friend, and he'd been content enough with that for years now.

(He was completely, definitely, 100% content and not at all sexually frustrated)

Bucky eyed his discarded sleep clothes, but decided to just wear a towel for the ten steps to his suitcase. Natasha was probably still sleeping anyway, so if he was quiet, he could just grab something and come back to the bathroom. Of course, this brilliant plan was derailed as soon as he opened the door.

The light was on, and Natasha was sitting on the edge of the low dresser at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and wearing what Kate called 'the someone-messed-up' face.

As usual, Bucky vainly hoped that he wasn't the one who messed up.

He was definitely the one who messed up.

“I thought you might go back to sleep,” he tried casually. Her frown somehow intensified despite her not moving any part of her face.

“Sorry I woke you?” was his next attempt. She tossed her hair dismissively. Bucky sighed, hoping she said something soon, if only to get things over with. He was holding his sleep clothes and the edges of his towel in his only hand, and the towel was slipping a little. Missing a hand sucked.

“Why don't we have sex anymore?” Natasha asked bluntly. Bucky was surprised enough to almost drop everything. He compromised with his dignity by dropping heavily onto the bed.

“What?” he stalled. As far as Bucky knew, she was the one stopping them, but he wasn't about to tell her that. She'd probably smack him.

“You heard me, James.” Her voice was steady like a surgeon's scalpel-not hurting anything, but terribly menacing all the same. “I'm not making any demands, or expecting anything from you. I just want to know why we don't sleep together anymore, when we both enjoyed it so much before.”

“Because you don't want to,” Bucky responded dumbly. Natasha closed the distance between them long enough to smack the back of his head, then backed up to respect his personal space.

“Don't tell me what I want, James,” she ordered. “Maybe I haven't been clear, so let me lay things out for you: I value the relationship we have, but miss the physical component and would not object to rekindling it.” Bucky's brain was still trying to catch up. The process was slowed considerably by the portion that wouldn't stop cartwheeling in glee. Still, when he took a moment to look her over, he could see the defensiveness in her stance. She was projecting her competent self, but underneath was the insecurity of a woman who was almost certain of rejection.

“I didn't think you'd want...” Bucky trailed off, gesturing vaguely to indicate his scarred-up self. “Why didn't you say anything before?”

“I didn't want to push you too hard,” she said, chin up in a way that meant she wouldn't apologize for the decisions she'd made. “You didn't say anything either, and I only just realized you might not know it's still an option. If you want it.”

“Natalia,” he breathed, knowing how uncomfortable she must be, putting herself out in the open this way. He reached for her, and she was in his lap before he fully extended his arm. One knee on either side of his hips, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Pulling her as close as he could, Bucky pressed a firm kiss to the side of her head.

“Of course I wanted you, doll, you're amazing, you're perfect, you're beautiful,” he murmured, nuzzling into her hair. “How could I not want you? I'm sorry I freaked out this morning. Don't take it personally, yeah?”

“It went better in my head,” she admitted. “You didn't say anything for so long after the accident, but recently you've been looking at me like you used to. Then you ran off, and I thought I was misreading everything, and you just weren't interested.”

“Nataschenka, beautiful,” he laughed, rolling his hips against her. “I am CLEARLY interested.” As was her custom, Natasha had gone to bed in an oversized t-shirt and undersized pair of boyshorts. Having her straddle him, nothing but a towel between their tightly-pressed bodies, had certainly finished waking him up- parts of him, at least. The motion of his hips made his half-hard cock slide gently against her, eliciting a tiny gasp.

The surprise only stayed on her face half a second, chased away by a flirtatious smirk Bucky had long since associated with the promise of an excellent time. He could practically taste the smirk when she kissed him, the chaste meeting of lips providing a delightful counterpoint to the decidedly unvirtuous movements of her hips. One of her hands snaked into his hair while the other trailed down around his neck and across his chest. Bucky's own hand was teasing the hem of her boyshorts, just barely low enough to still be on her thigh instead of her ass. Natasha broke the kiss, leaning back to remove her shirt, when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Are you two coming to breakfast?” Steve called. Natasha growled, glaring at the clock as if it was to blame for the passage of time. Bucky was surprised to see how late it was-the alarm must have gone off while he was showering, and it was definitely time to be heading to breakfast.

“I'm half tempted to skip,” Natasha muttered sulkily, though the hand tucking his hair behind his ear was almost unbearably gentle. Of course, Bucky's stomach rumbled loudly, making them both laugh.

“We'll be a couple minutes, Steve,” Bucky called, unsubtly adjusting himself once Natasha got off his lap. “You guys can go ahead of us if you want.” If Steve replied, Bucky didn't hear it in his and Natasha's rush to get ready. Still, the blond and his boyfriend were waiting in the hall when Natasha pushed Bucky out the door, promising his hair looked fine.

“Oh, you didn't have to wait,” Bucky greeted absently, reaching up to feel his hair. Natasha grabbed his hand, securing it with her own deceptively strong fingers.

“Morning, boys. Tell James he looks pretty so we can go to breakfast?”

“Talia,” Bucky complained, but Sam cut in, voice serious.

“You look fine, man, don't worry,” and here, his grin grew wide and devious before he continued, “no one can tell you two were knockin' boots.” Sam's face got more smug as Bucky felt himself color. Natasha snickered quietly, but Steve laughed outright. His laughter only increased when he spotted the pair's choice of footwear for the day-both happened to be wearing boots.

Steve was still sporadically giggling when they reached the breakfast hall, and the other three had gotten to the point of laughing at the blond.

“I don't know why you put up with this dork, honestly,” Bucky told Sam, shooting Steve a teasing glance. Sam's voice was serious yet again, but Bucky was coming to recognize that particular tone as the precursor to an absolutely ridiculous statement.

“He's got some redeeming qualities,” Sam informed Bucky sagaciously, before leaning in to stage-whisper, “I mean, have you seen his ass?” Steve blushed to the roots of his hair and Bucky pointedly did not agree with Sam's assessment of anyone's posterior.

Breakfast was dominated by an excited discussion of the plans for the next two days. All of the non E&L employees had spent the last two days at various resort-type activities, but would now be actively integrated into the 'work' side of the working vacation. Today was basically mix-and-match brainstorming sessions, involving carefully drawn charts (of which Coulson was terribly proud) that sorted people into groups containing the perfect ratio of members from each department and their guests. Bucky's excitement for the day only increased when Coulson dropped by to tell them Alexi had decided he wouldn't require any translating services after all.

“I'm very impressed with his confidence in English,” Steve announced solemnly, his face so earnest it ought to require a license to wield. “Be sure to pass on my compliments, Coulson.” The suited man stayed around for a few more minutes, making small talk, and Bucky was incredibly amused to see how unexaggerated everyone's descriptions of Coulson's attitude towards Steve actually were. Sam and Natasha laughed when Bucky pointed this out, and Steve's cheeks pinked as he looped an arm around his boyfriend's neck.

“Don't worry, Sam, you're still my best fella,” he declared, using his cheesy old-time newsreel voice. He'd learned that voice when they were children, to add entertainment value to the stories he and Bucky took turns reading to each other. It warmed Bucky to hear it again, even if his stomach twisted a little at the thought of Steve sharing the jokes that used to belong solely to the two of them. Then Natasha's hand landed on his thigh, low enough to be innocent but to high to be completely casual, and he was quite thoroughly distracted.

* * *

 

The meetings were fun, less stuffy boardroom and more college social event. There were beach balls, several attempts at juggling, an enthusiastic game of musical chairs, the most vicious game of jeopardy Bucky had ever seen, and hundreds of sticky notes stuck to walls, furniture, and people. The groups switched every hour, so that everyone got a chance to meet all of the other employees and guests, and participate in every activity.

“Having fun?” Sam asked, dropping into the empty seat next to Bucky. They hadn't met up until the last meeting of the day, and Bucky was glad for a familiar face. Everything had been fun so far, but meeting so many strangers at once was starting to wear on him. He hadn't seen Steve since the morning, and he'd been separated from Natasha since just after lunch.

“It's not nearly as terrible as the concept makes it sound,” Bucky admitted. “Though I'll be glad for some quiet time after this.”

“Long day?” Sam's face was sympathetic. Some part of Bucky's gut cried out for at least a moderate amount of distrust with the man who had taken his place (and then some) in Steve's life, but it seemed impossible that anyone would spend more than ten minutes around Sam and not adore him. Not to mention Bucky's rational brain, which pointed out that he did not, in fact, have any sort of claim over Steve whatsoever. An entire childhood in each others' pockets was somewhat negated by faking his own death and disappearing for around a decade.

Their small talk was cut off by Skye calling everyone to attention with far more enthusiasm than Bucky had had for anything but survival at her age. He said as much to Sam as they were leaving the meeting, and it quickly led them down the rabbit hole of swapping war stories. When Sam laughed so hard he had to wipe away tears, the tiny distrustful part of Bucky's gut was entirely consumed by the warm happiness he felt from causing that laughter.

“Hey there, handsome,” Natasha's distinctive voice called from behind them as they made their way to dinner. “Oh, hey James,” she added with a mischievous smirk, and Sam laughed again. Natasha had her arm linked with Steve's, and the pair walked in perfect sync despite their size difference. Bucky was momentarily struck dumb by how PRETTY they looked together, but then he had an armful of redhead.

Natasha's kiss was a greeting and a promise, and Bucky was delighted at the prospect of following up on their interrupted morning. They didn't kiss long, but it just so happened to be right as Wade walked by. He wolf-whistled loud enough to make Bucky pull back, and Natasha leveled her fiercest glare at the source of the noise.

“Oh, don't stop on my account!” Wade said magnanimously. “In fact, please continue. Sam and Steve too!”

“Don't make me get out the sexual harassment training pamphlets again,” Sam said warningly, and Wade continued on his way with a laugh and a wave.

“I will never understand what's going through that man's head,” Steve murmured, but he did reel Sam in for a solid kiss on the cheek. Bucky had noticed-not in a creepy way, he was just observant, okay?-that the two never actually kissed in public, though they had gotten more demonstrative over the course of the week. He didn't get a chance to mention it before dinner, and the mealtime conversation was hijacked almost as soon as they sat down.

“James, I've been sent as the R&D emissary to discuss an important business matter with you,” Simmons announced, hovering uncomfortably by their table until Steve pulled out a chair for her. She perched in it delicately, still looking ill-at-ease. With a fortifying breath, she delivered a speech that sounded like she had been rehearsing it in her head for some time.

“You may be aware that R&D has been doing some research in advanced prosthetics, and, given how well you got along with the team as a group yesterday and individually today, we would like to invite you to work with us as a test subject. If you're interested, we will set up a preliminary meeting to discuss the specifics. Feel free to contact us with your answer whenever you feel you've had sufficient time to think it over.”

Without waiting for a reply, the petite girl hurried back to her cohort, who were not at all inconspicuously watching Bucky for his reaction. His reaction was, primarily, bemused silence. Natasha, always quicker on her feet, recovered before Simmons had fully completed her retreat.

“You've been open about your arm,” she observed, voice carefully neutral. Bucky nodded. He hadn't advertised his missing limb, but he hadn't actively concealed its existence, either. It had been fairly noticeable in some of the more active meetings, but Bucky had forced himself to go about business as usual, knowing how proud Natasha would be.

“Why wouldn't he be open about it?” Steve asked. Sam nudged his shoulder, face silently communicating something Bucky suspected to be along the lines of 'Steve, you idiot, people who go through life-altering injuries can be sensitive about the subject and shouldn't be pushed too far out of their comfort zone, be nice!'

“How did it go?” Natasha asked, lower and in Russian. Bucky had to think a moment before he replied. It really hadn't been bad. He never exactly expected people to be terrible about it, but cognitively knowing people weren't assholes and making his brain stop freaking out at the thought of everyone staring at him were two separate issues. Still, the most reactions he had gotten were a few surprised looks from people who hadn't realized at first that he was down an arm.

Well, except for Tony, who had glared at the prosthetic as though it had personally offended him by not being incredibly technologically advanced. Bucky suspected the R&D team's offer had originated from Tony in particular, though Simmons had been chosen to deliver the message because she was far less likely to do so in a way that made Bucky want to punch her in the face.

“It was okay,” Bucky admitted, answering Natasha's question. “Not easy, but not terrible.”

“I'm so proud of you, James,” she told him seriously, and he had to look away from her eyes before he misread the emotion there as something deeper than friendly feelings. Fortunately, Maria claimed Simmons's vacated seat and redirected the conversation to the next day's activities. The last full day of the retreat was Field Day, a series of competitions both mental and physical, and it was by far everyone's favorite portion of the trip. Bucky was glad of the distraction, tucking thoughts of Simmons's offer and Natasha's feelings away for later contemplation.

Eventually Steve, Natasha, and Maria, as department heads, had to go to one last meeting, leaving Sam and Bucky to wander back up to their rooms. By unspoken consensus, they ended up in Sam and Steve's room. Sam flopped across the end of the bed while Bucky lounged in the comfy chair in the corner.

“What a day, huh?” Sam asked.

“This whole trip is kind of crazy,” Bucky admitted. “Not at all what I expected. I'm not complaining, exactly, but I thought it might be a little more relaxing.” Sam huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, next week the office will be pretty slow. Everyone always has to recover from the vacation.”

“So how long have you and Steve actually been together?” Bucky knew the question was abrupt, but as soon as the question crossed his mind it was out his mouth without thought for social convention. Sam stiffened, and Bucky was about to apologize when the other man let out a long sigh and met his eyes seriously.

“I'm gonna be honest with you, man,” he started, taking his time choosing words. “Me and Steve... I dunno how cool it is for me to tell you this-we haven't exactly talked about it-so I'm gonna ask you to keep this to yourself.” Bucky nodded, so Sam continued.

“We aren't actually together.”

Bucky waited for the punchline.

Sam waited for the inevitable questions.

Sam's waiting paid off first.

“What do you mean, not together?” Bucky demanded. “What about all the kissing and room sharing and calling each other cute names?” As he was saying all of this, Bucky realized he had done everything on that list with Natasha.

“Steve accidentally told Coulson we're together so Coulson would stop trying to set him up, and we just kinda went with it. I didn't think we were going to do much of anything, then the news got out on the first day...”

“Yeah, Steve ain't the best at keepin' his hands to himself,” Bucky snorted, then realized how that statement could be taken. “Not that he and I ever...”

“Really?” Sam sounded genuinely surprised. “The way he talked, it sounded like you were his long-lost love come back from the dead.”

“Closer to the other way around,” Bucky admitted. “Not that I don't love Natasha” -because it was true, he very much DID love Natasha- “but Steve was my first love, yanno? I loved him before I even knew what loving someone meant.” Sam hummed noncommittally, so Bucky changed tacks abruptly once again.

“You two really do seem like a couple, though.”

“There's been a lot more flirting than I expected.”

“You don't sound like you mind.”

“Man, would you?” Sam's voice was light, but his smile had tiny cracks at the edges. Bucky wondered how much of Sam's flirting was actually serious. They were prevented from any further conversation by Steve and Natasha entering the room, arguing playfully.

“I don't see how you can claim _Muppet Treasure Island_ is anything BUT a national treasure,” Natasha was saying. “It's unamerican.”

“You can't accuse me of being unamerican!” Steve protested. “ _You're_ unamerican! Literally!”

“Hey, she's a citizen,” Bucky piped up, grinning at how riled up Natasha always got in defense of the Muppets. Kate had introduced the pair to the Muppet Show as a distraction while Bucky was still bedridden after his accident. His memories of the show are all a little bittersweet, but Natasha had wholeheartedly fallen in love with the show.

“I didn't even have to take the citizenship test,” the redhead boasted. “I just wrote an essay about how wonderful the Muppets are.”

“Look, I get that they're neat, but I don't see why a retelling of _Treasure Island_ with puppets would be any different from the original.” Bucky stifled a laugh as Natasha stilled, deadly as a cobra.

“They are not,” she hissed, “ **puppets**.”

“Technically,” Sam offered, but quieted when she turned her staredown on him.

“Stevie probably just doesn't get it because he hasn't seen it,” Bucky suggested, thinking it might be time to calm Natasha down. “We didn't really have a lot of movies growing up.”

“Movie night!” Natasha declared, shoving Steve onto the bed (and a little onto Sam) before darting into hers and Bucky's room.

“Get whatever snacks and drinks you want now,” Bucky advised, rising to get his own. “Talia takes movie night very seriously.” He was maybe a little disappointed that he and Natasha wouldn't be immediately carrying out her suggested plan for the evening, but movie night promised its own kind of fun.

Natasha set about rigging her laptop to display on the television-becuase _of course_ she had all of the Muppet movies on her hard drive-while Bucky settled in on the king sized bed with the other two men. Steve tugged Sam to cuddle up closer, and Sam studiously didn't meet Bucky's raised eyebrow as he leaned into the blond. Bucky smirked, realizing that while Sam may not be sure what exactly is happening between himself and Steve, he certainly wasn't objecting to any of it.

Much, Bucky supposed, like his reaction to Natasha's affections.

The redhead in question settled in on the bed after dimming the lights, having started the movie. It was nice, the four comfortably close, sharing candy and quips about the movie. By the time the credits rolled, they had melded into a multi-limbed pile, and everyone was too comfortable to want to move. Steve had conceded Natasha's point that the Muppets were, in fact, extremely culturally important. Sam egged her on as she scolded Steve for his past disbelief, and Bucky dozed in a contented haze. It was strange how easily they had fallen in with each other, already so comfortable despite the newness of their level of friendship.

Strange but nice, he decided.

Bucky drifted off surrounded by warm bodies, happy voices, and a hand toying gently with his hair. Definitely nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the original (vague) plan was to finish this story before school started, for obvious reasons. That clearly did not happen, so now updates will be unfortunately sporadic, because school is kicking my ass a little. Thank you, once again, for your patience.
> 
> This chapter isn't a particular favorite-honestly, a lot of it is just to move things on to the last full day of the trip. I think there are about four more chapters left, maybe less if I cut out the chapter that's just summarized as "SEX." Which I may do, for the sake of time. I'm torn between wanting to do this story full justice, and the knowledge that if I wait until I think it's perfect, no one will ever see so much as a sentence.
> 
> Hmm... other things about this chapter: 
> 
> Alexi isn't here because otherwise this day would've basically been exactly like the day before it, and I didn't want that repetitiveness. Don't worry, he will try at least once more to get Natasha's attention, and he will be rebuffed with prejudice. 
> 
> I was going to add more cameos but decided it wouldn't really help the story at all, so it didn't happen. Sorry if that's something you were looking forward to-maybe some more people will show up during field day. I'll try. 
> 
> The Muppets are, in fact, a national treasure and I will fight anyone who tries to convince me otherwise.
> 
> Since Natasha is, under her scary-competent exterior, a huge dork, she of course fell in love with the franchise when Kate introduced them to it. I figure Kate grew up watching Muppets movies, and got into the show a little later, when so much of it went up on YouTube.
> 
> That's everything, I think. Thanks again for sticking around.   
> Up next:   
> Steve chapter: Bucky and Nat need to stop being so amazing so I can concentrate on seducing Sam!


	13. Steve never makes bad choices, except when he does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does several things that seem like a good idea at the time, but quickly lead to regrets.

Sam and Bucky were both using Steve as a pillow, and he was finding himself completely unable to figure out which one made him happier. The two had drifted off sometime during _Muppets Take Manhattan_ , leaving only Steve and Natasha to finish the movie.

“How heavy of a sleeper is yours?” Natasha murmured, looking up from where she was draped over Bucky like a lounging cat.

“If there's a loud noise or we move him too suddenly, he'll wake up, but whispering like this won't do anything,” Steve guessed, extrapolating from the few times Sam had dozed off around him before. “Does Bucky still sleep like the dead?”

Instead of answering, Natasha lifted Bucky's hand and let it fall back onto her waist. Bucky didn't stir.

“He can just stay,” Steve offered unthinkingly. The dim light from the television made it hard to tell, but he thought Natasha's face might have closed off slightly at the offer. Remembering how distant she allowed herself to be kept from anyone who didn't directly invite her closer, Steve quickly amended his statement. “You can too, if you want. The bed's big enough. Or I can carry him back to your room.”

“I don't know if you could move that much without waking Sam,” she said after a moment, but her tone was happier.

“Guess it's a dogpile for the night, then?” Steve wondered if this was a normal adult behavior. Sure, he and Bucky had shared beds-or couches, or piles of blankets on the floor- plenty when they were growing up, and Peggy and Angie were always more than happy to use him as additional bed furniture when they visited, but he didn't have a real frame of reference besides that. Then again, given how cautious Natasha was about accepting friendship, he wondered if she did either.

“Are you comfortable?” was her only reply, so at least she didn't think this was strange. Or, if she did, she wasn't saying anything. Steve nodded, then found himself spurred on by the confidence of late nights, sleeping companions, and dimly lit rooms.

“Why aren't we better friends, Natasha?” he asked, and he could tell she was trying to show as little of her surprise as possible.

“I thought we were friends, Rogers.” The statement was carefully neutral, and he realized she may have taken his question to mean they weren't as close as she thought they were.

“We are,” he backtracked quickly. “I meant, why weren't we until this week? You never hung out with me and Sam-or anyone else, as far as I know-outside work. We didn't even know you had a boyfriend, or that you were a dancer, or all kinds of things that friends know.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment, then shifted so she was sitting against the headboard next to Steve. Sam was stretched along Steve's opposite side and Bucky was sprawled perpendicular to the pair of them, head on Steve's thigh. Natasha draped her legs over Bucky's torso, and he curled his arm around them with a happy sleep noise.

“I didn't live a life conducive to friends, when I was younger,” she confided, studiously not looking at him. “James was my first real friend-he didn't want me for my talent, or my looks, or my family connections. He thought I was fun, and that was the first time I'd been around someone who didn't have expectations of me. We have two other friends, Clint and Kate, and they're the same. But more than that... I don't know how to be friends with lots of people.”

“Like you don't know if there's room in your heart for anyone else,” Steve whispered. Natasha finally looked at him, wide-eyed.

“I'm the same way,” he said wryly. “I can list my friends all on one hand. And I only just started to need all my fingers.” Natasha didn't say anything for a moment, so Steve nudged her shoulder with his.

“You're one of the fingers,” he informed her. “If you were wondering.” Her answering smile was brilliant even in the low light.

* * *

 

Waking up came with the realization that he was not young enough to be falling asleep mostly sitting up. Steve had tipped sideways sometimes in the night, head nested in the crook of Natasha's neck. One of Sam's arms was slung around Steve's waist, and Bucky had somehow burrowed most of the way under his girlfriend, leaving only a sliver of his face visible. He must have taken his prosthetic off sometime during the movie, and it warmed Steve that his old friend felt comfortable enough around him (and Sam) to do so.

Though he'd been mostly distracted by the stiffness in his neck, Steve quite suddenly figured out what had brought him to wakefulness. Sam's hand, which he had first thought was casually resting on his stomach, had in fact teased its way under Steve's shirt. One little finger was boldly considering sliding into the waistband of his pants, if its gentle movements were any indication.

“Uh, Sam?” Steve asked hoarsely. Natasha and Bucky fortunately didn't stir, but the only reply Steve got was a contented hum from behind his shoulder.

“Samuel Wilson, you had better be awake,” the blond hissed, scooping Sam's venturesome hand into one of his own. Sam hummed again, wiggling closer along the line of Steve's back, and was that a kiss at the nape of his neck? Part of Steve was thrilled at the indication that Sam might be reciprocating his affections, but the responsible part of his brain was dampening all joy by pointing out how sleepy actions do not in any way count as consent or returned feelings, not to mention the close proximity of two other people.

The thrilled part of Steve's brain was enthusiastic about the thought of Bucky and Natasha in bed, so the responsible part doubled down on the doubt that Sam was conscious enough for his actions to mean anything.

Steve decided his best course of action was a quick evacuation of the bed, which went much smoother in his head than in reality. The plan was to sit up, leaving Natasha propped against the headboard, and then to lever himself over Sam and thereby out of the bed. Instead, Natasha slipped sideways as soon as he moved, evidently blocking Bucky's oxygen supply, if the muffled protest was anything to go by. Knocked off balance by Bucky squirming for air, Steve ended up sitting down hard on Sam's hip, then falling face-first onto the floor.

“What the fuck?” Steve popped his head up to look at the mess he had left of the bed, face burning crimson. Sam was rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking around in confusion, Natasha was fixing her hair with a murderous expression, and Bucky had managed to sit up on his knees, looking like a disgruntled kitten.

“What the fuck?” Bucky repeated, glaring around the room for answers. His eyes landed on Steve, blushing and on the floor, and made the not-incorrect leap that Steve was to blame.

“Morning?” Steve tried for his usual cheer, and Bucky pegged him in the face with a pillow.

Steve DID NOT squawk in protest, thank you very much. He had no idea why Sam and Natasha were laughing so hard.

“Look at the time, we should get going,” he grumbled, gathering his clothes and retreating to the bathroom.

He locked it when he heard Bucky growl out a threat to shave off his eyebrows.

Again.

Of course the commotion had robbed him of a chance to talk to Sam. Steve sighed deeply. He had set goals, at the start of the week, to rekindle his friendship with Bucky (check-maybe a little too big of a check mark, to encompass a resurgence of a number of feelings Steve had spent adolescence repressing), improve his friendship with Natasha (check, if last night was any indication), and seduce Sam. So far, all he had managed on the last count was an increase in actions Sam was probably writing off as part of their fake boyfriends charade. Maybe it was time to use his words, after all.

* * *

 

Despite his resolution to do so, Steve didn't get a chance to speak to Sam privately before they were swept up in the excitement of Field Day. The enthusiasm of returning employees and guests was contagious-everyone loved Field Day. Everyone got to sign up in advance for the events they wanted to participate in, and teams were picked at random to avoid unfair distribution.

Steve regretted his stiff neck and shoulders even more when the first event of the day turned out to be tug-of-war. He was, of course, placed as the team's anchor due to his size. It wasn't until the teams were almost ready to begin that he noticed Sam on the opposing team.

“You ready to lose, Rogers?” Sam called.

“I'm always prepared for every eventuality, even the unlikely ones,” Steve replied, earning a chorus of 'ooooohs' from his teammates. The trash talking, good-natured as it was, got put on hold during the match. Steve's team won-just barely-and the blond knew he had on his biggest shit eating grin when he found Sam in the dispersing crowd.

“Don't be too sad, Sam,” he deadpanned. “At least your date is a winner.”

“Oh, that's how it is?” Sam asked archly. Steve was about to reply when Bucky slung his arm around Sam's shoulder.

“I hear you lost tug-of-war?” he greeted. “Well, maybe Stevie can kiss your wounded pride all better.” Bucky winked at Steve and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the pair behind him in baffled silence. Steve laughed suddenly, realizing Bucky's instinct to wingman for him must have resurfaced.

“It's nice to know some things haven't changed,” he explained at Sam's inquiring noise. “Apparently Bucky will never stop trying to get me laid, even when he thinks I'm in a relationship.” Sam looked shifty at that statement, but Steve didn't have time to investigate why before they had to go to their next event.

The day passed in a blur of laughter, friendly smack talk, and the warmth of fun exercise. Steve knew there would be an epic slideshow of the day's events emailed to all of the attendees sometime in the next week, and he always loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves so thoroughly.

It wasn't until his very last event of the day-dodgeball-that Steve's sore upper torso became too much to bear. The muscles had loosed during his earlier activities until the pain was mostly a dull ache, but Steve decided to try an impressive matrix-style dodge/throw combo that wrenched everything exactly wrong. The move was a success in that he dodged the ball and hit his opponent, but it was an utter failure in that he fell to the floor immediately after with a pained grunt.

“You okay, Stevie?” Bucky's concerned face hovered over his, reminiscent of who knows how many post-fight occasions in their childhood. Steve nodded weakly, then grimaced when the motion further aggravated his aches.

“I'm too old to sleep crooked,” he complained, climbing to his feet and waving away the concerned audience his fall had gathered.

“C'mon, let's go get you an ice pack or somethin',” Bucky ordered, tossing away the ball he had been holding and steering the larger man out of the conference room turned gymnasium.

“I'm fine, Buck, really,” Steve protested, another source of extreme deja vu. Bucky just nodded kept towing him back to their rooms.

“You're always fine, pal, until you're not. I know how this goes,” the brunet muttered, continuing under his breath in a way that sounded suspiciously like “some things never change, big as a house and still can't take care of himself worth a damn, amazing he didn't die without someone lookin' after him...” Steve was too warmed by the concern to be offended.

“What hurts?” Bucky demanded once they'd reached his and Natasha's room.

“Really, I'm just sore from how I was sleeping,” Steve explained again, but Bucky just nodded absently before pointing at the bed in a way that brooked no argument. Steve sat. A moment of rummaging in his duffel bag led to Bucky making a triumphant noise and holding up a rice pillow. He put it in the microwave and crossed to the nightstand on what Steve guessed was his side of the bed.

“What're you looking for?” he asked, knee-walking across the bed to look over Bucky's shoulder.

“Natasha usually brings this sore muscle rub-aha!” Bucky pulled a small tub from the drawer and bumped it shut with his knee, but not before Steve caught a glimpse of the other things Natasha had apparently brought, like lube and condoms.

Steve was absolutely not thinking about the use of those items, in any context.

“Shirt off,” Bucky prompted, completely derailing Steve's attempts to think virtuous thoughts.

“What?” was his eloquently managed reply.

“Shirt off, Rogers,” Bucky huffed, tugging at the offending fabric. “C'mon, it ain't like you got somethin' I haven't seen before.”

Somehow, that was the exact wrong thing to say. Steve knew, logically, that he was well-built and conventionally attractive, but Bucky's teasing tone managed to bring forth every body insecurity he'd ever had, and a couple new ones besides. What if Bucky laughed at his (slightly ridiculously large) new shape?

“Stevie, I can't help you if you leave your shirt on,” Bucky cajoled, face gentle like he had realized why Steve was hesitating. The raw affection in that gentleness spurred Steve on. Bucky had never laughed at him when he was scrawny and bony, he wouldn't laugh now. In fact, Bucky's reaction was much more gratifying- he let out a seemingly involuntary “damn, Stevie” when Steve's torso was finally revealed.

Of course, the lack of shirt meant Bucky could see Steve's blush dripping across his neck and down his chest. The brunet smirked, and Steve smacked him halfheartedly on the arm.

“How d'you want to do this?” Steve asked. He had stopped himself from saying 'how do you want me?' but wasn't sure his alternative was any better.

“Go ahead and lay on your stomach?” Bucky suggested, sounding a little nervous.

Unless that was Steve projecting.

Steve had definitely, at some point in his life, had dreams that started out like this.

The bedspread was cool under his chest, and the weight of Bucky's legs on either side of him was almost unbearably hot. Then the actual massage started, Bucky's medicine-slicked hand digging deep to bring relief. Steve tried not to add to his own mental turmoil by moaning, but then Bucky hit a particularly tight spot and he couldn't help the noise that escaped.

“Bet you say that to all the boys,” Bucky teased, voice tight. Probably from the exertion of the massage.

“You keep making me feel this good and I'll say anything you want,” Steve shot back before he could consider the ramifications of half-naked flirting. Bucky stilled, but he continued moving before Steve could apologize for being too weird.

“You shouldn't have let us make you sleep so uncomfortably last night,” he admonished, clearly trying to steer the conversation into more neutral territory.

“Everyone was so comfortable, though. I didn't want to wake you guys up.” Bucky snorted.

“You're such a martyr sometimes, you know that? Always lookin' out for everyone else, never thinkin' about what it's gonna cost you. Used to drive me crazy, how you never put yourself first.”

“I didn't have to,” Steve's brain was starting to go fuzzy with how good the massage felt. “That's what I had you for.”

“Nice to know there was some sorta reason to have me around.” Bucky said it lightly, and Steve was seized with the need to tell Bucky how important he had been-and was rapidly becoming again. To that end he rolled over-a feat made possible only by the slimness of his waist-until he was facing his oldest friend. The brunet sat back a little, resting his weight on Steve's thighs, but Steve ignored the position to focus on making Bucky meet his eye.

“I had every reason to keep you around, Buck,” he said, infusing the words with every ounce of sincerity he possessed. He had said as much the first night they were reunited, but apparently Bucky hadn't listened well enough. “You were my everything. My best friend, my role model, my partner in crime, my familiy...”

Steve took a shaky breath, finally ready to admit the part he'd never said before.

“My first love.” Bucky's eyes went wide, searching Steve's face for any sign of untruth.

“Stevie,” he whispered, but the first confession had opened the floodgates deep within Steve's heart.

“I was so in love with you, Buck, you don't even know. I didn't even know, not at first, until you started going out with girls and I realized I was _so jealous_. God, Bucky, I was so scared if you ever found out you'd leave, and you were just too important to risk it. I was a coward, and it stung every time you said I was brave, because I was never brave enough for that, and when I thought you were gone forever I knew I'd lost my chance and I was so mad that you left, but I never stopped loving you. Never ever. Seeing you again is hands down the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I hope this isn't too much to dump on you so soon, but-”

He would've kept talking until he eventually ran out of words, but Bucky stopped him. More specifically, Bucky kissed him, and Steve rapidly decided that kissing was a better use for his mouth than talking.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. Bucky gripped the back of Steve's head like he might pull away, and his lips were fierce and almost desperate. Steve wrapped both arms around Bucky's torso, pulling him close, trying to convey with his whole body that he wasn't going anywhere, that he meant what he had said. Bucky was the one who finally pulled away, breathing hard, to rest their foreheads together.

“Are you fuckin' kiddin' me, Rogers?” he growled. “Do you know how bad I had it for you? You were like the sun in the shitstorm that was the rest of life. I was gone for you the day you told that visiting nun to stop using God to justify bullying little kids. When I came back after training I got my tattoo so I could show you how serious I was when I told you I love you.” Steve was about to lean back in when his thoughts snagged on the present tense of Bucky's declaration.

“Love?” he croaked. “Not, loved?” Bucky flicked him in the ear.

“Always gotta be precise, huh punk?” he teased. “I ain't takin' it back. Maybe I don't know you exactly like the back of my hand anymore, but I know you enough to know the parts of you I fell in love with are still there, and the rest of you is just as incredible.”

Steve just stared, unsure what to do with such an outpouring of devotion. It had always been Steve who made the sweeping declarations, the stirring speeches, the eloquent remarks. Bucky's cleverness lived in his hands more than his words, but his simple statement had dismantled Steve more thoroughly than the trinkets Bucky used to spend so long figuring out the mechanics of. Steve was broken down into his most basic parts, and Bucky's name was written across all of them.

Incapable of finding words that would mean enough, Steve pulled Bucky in for another kiss, gentler this time but no less intense. He willed every ounce of love he'd ever had for James Buchanan Barnes to transmit through his kiss, through his hands in Bucky's hair, through his chest pressed as close as physics would allow. Bucky responded in kind, inching forward on Steve's lap until their hips were lined up. The sudden feeling of Bucky's weight pressing down on his cock, separated by nothing but their athletic pants, made Steve inhale sharply.

“Buck,” he managed, quickly losing all semblance of coherency.

“Oh, god, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, bending to suck on Steve's neck. Feeling the other man's tongue against his skin dissipated the last shred of Steve's self control. With a low growl, he rolled them over and covered Bucky's body with his own. The remnants of the muscle rub on Bucky's hand left electric trails across Steve's chest, and he whined impatiently at the existence of Bucky's shirt. Unfortunately removing the shirt required taking his mouth off of Bucky's, so Steve compensated by diving for the first bit of skin available. Bucky was in good shape, which Steve rewarded him for by licking the trail between his abs. The brunet gave a pleased little hum, and that's when Steve saw the tattoo.

He had drawn this, years ago. Bucky was branded, indelibly, with a symbol of how important Steve was to him. Steve's ravaging mouth slowed, kissing the tattoo tenderly, looking up to meet Bucky's eyes. Those ice blue eyes were always communicative, and Steve saw such amazement and happiness and love that he just had to rise back up for another kiss.

Bucky kissed with his whole body; head tilting for the perfect angle, chest setting Steve's skin on fire with every breath, hand gripping Steve's lower back proprietorially, legs tangling inextricably with Steve's. They were both fully hard, pressing together but not quite rutting, willing to draw out the exquisite anticipation.

Or at least, Bucky was willing.

Steve drew back, propped up on one forearm while the other hand snuck down to rest at the waistband of Bucky's pants.

“Is this okay?” he asked, praying to any power in the universe that it would be. Bucky nodded eagerly, then bit his lip. Steve spotted the hesitation and drew back immediately. “Bucky?” he urged.

“It's just...” Bucky looked away, then back at Steve with an expression of naked disbelief. “Do _you_ really want this? Want... me?” Steve quickly deduced what Bucky was really asking, and swooped in with a reassuring kiss.

“Of course I want you, Buck. I would want you no matter what. The way you look isn't nearly as important as who you are, but because of the way you are, you'll always be beautiful to me.” Bucky's breath hitched at the descriptor, and Steve immediately began to exploit that reaction shamelessly.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing gently down Bucky's neck.

“The most amazing man I've ever met,” he whispered, nipping Bucky's earlobe.

“I would draw you, if I could keep my hands off you long enough,” he promised, nuzzling his way down Bucky's torso.

“Beautiful, Bucky, beautiful,” he swore, biting kisses into Bucky's hipbones. Bucky was shaking, and from his vantage point at the other man's hips Steve could see a damp patch forming through Bucky's shorts. He hovered, close enough to show his intent but far enough to be stopped, waiting for Bucky's permission again.

“Please, Stevie, please,” was all the permission he needed, and Steve gratefully traced his nose along Bucky's length through his pants.

“Stevie, c'mon, you gotta-ah!” Bucky cut off as Steve wrapped his lips around the tip of Bucky's cock, tonguing the slit mercilessly through the fabric.

“Fuck, Stevie, your MOUTH,” Bucky gasped, and Steve grinned at him wickedly.

“Yes please,” he responded, and Bucky gaped at him for a split second before grabbing the base of his neck to haul him in for another kiss.

“Pants off,” Bucky demanded, wiggling his hips to achieve that goal. Steve, always helpful, slid all the way down Bucky's body, taking the athletic pants with him. The blond had to stop a moment, standing at the foot of the bed, to stare at Bucky, naked and hard and spread across the bed. Steve's pants joined Bucky's on the floor and he crawled back overtop of the smaller man.

He fully intended to let Bucky fuck his mouth-and damn if that wasn't a thought that almost had him coming on the spot-but first he _needed_ to feel all of Bucky's exposed skin against his. The sensation didn't disappoint, and it also gave Bucky the opportunity to flip them back over, planting himself firmly on Steve's cock and rolling his hips suggestively.

“There's so much I wanna do to you, Stevie,” he murmured, gripping Steve's pec in a way the blond never knew did things for him.

“Anything,” Steve promised breathlessly. He meant it. He trusted Bucky, he _loved_ Bucky, he would do anything to make Bucky happy. And judging by the broken moan his promise elicited, Steve was well on the path to that goal.

“Scoot down,” Bucky ordered, balancing on his knees, freeing his hand to press down on Steve's shoulder. The blond slid down the bed, quickly realizing that Bucky intended to take him up on his earlier request. Bucky's cock hung, heavy and inviting, ready for Steve's ministrations. He mouthed at it as Bucky found his balance, grinning smugly as he earned a gasped curse from the other man.

“Tell me, if it's too much, or I do something you don't like,” Bucky huffed out, clearly distracted but wanting Steve to know he meant what he said. Steve nodded.

“Same for you, obviously,” he replied. “But in the meantime, I'm going to suck your brains out through your dick.”

Bucky laughed, but it turned into a curse as Steve set about his task in earnest. Steve may not have had many close friends in his lifetime, but he'd certainly had plenty of intimate acquaintances. Before he'd gotten fully confident in his physically fit body, his shyness had led to a disproportionate amount of oral sex. Consequently, Steve was INCREDIBLY good at what he was doing.

Sliding his hands up the backs of Bucky's thighs, Steve moaned happily as he got a good double handful of Bucky's ass.

“Fuck, Steve!” Bucky gasped again, legs trembling as Steve relaxed his throat to take even more. Steve hummed in agreement, nudging Bucky's hips in the proper motions. The brunet quickly got with the program, fucking enthusiastically into his partner's mouth.

Steve's lower body was starting to get chilled, but his senses were suffused with Bucky. He couldn't see, taste, or smell anything else. His hearing had zeroed in on Bucky's breathing, on the little expletives that snuck out when Steve did something particularly good. He lost all sense of time, thrilled by the enjoyment he was bringing his best friend. He whined in protest when Bucky slowed down and tried to pull away.

“Stevie, baby, 'm gonna come,” Bucky warned, and if he hadn't been sure before, the endearments made Steve absolutely determined to swallow every last drop Bucky would give him. He pressed on Bucky's hips again, bobbing his head at the rhythm that had made Bucky's breathing the most ragged.

“Stevie, seriously, Steve, Steve, Steve!” The last name trailed off as Bucky came suddenly. The angle was a little awkward, and it made Steve have to pull away before Bucky's cock had completely finished pulsing. He got come on his face, but he didn't care at all.

He cared even less when Bucky caught sight of him, looking up through his lashes with Bucky's come all over his face, and the brunet's eyes widened like he'd seen god.

“Baby, Steve, love,” Bucky gasped out, falling to the side and reaching for Steve. The blond responded eagerly to the summons, scrambling up to press his full body against Bucky's once again.

“Amazing, you're amazing, just incredible,” Bucky was whispering into Steve's mouth. He felt the press of Steve's achingly hard cock against his hip and moaned again. “And you loved it, you're fuckin' amazing, you are,” he praised, licking his palm before wrapping it around Steve's dick. He set a punishing pace, like he knew how close Steve was, and it didn't take long before all of Steve's nerves were lighting up and he was spilling all over Bucky's hand, their stomachs, and the bedspread.

Their heavy breaths mingled as they slowly regained control, then they were trading gentle kisses, bringing each other down from their highs with all the tenderness they'd hidden for all these years.

“We're all covered in come,” Steve grumbled, feeling the stretchy itch that meant parts of his cheek were becoming encrusted. Bucky giggled, kissing Steve's nose.

“Don't worry, baby, you're still pretty,” he promised. “I just hope we didn't make too much of a mess on the bed, or Natasha will...” he trailed off, his eyes widening.

All of Steve's happiness fled immediately. How could he have done this? How could Bucky have done this? Natasha was Steve's friend, Bucky loved her, how could they have forgotten her so completely? Not to mention all of Steve's plans for Sam. Sure, he hadn't made any overt moves, but he'd certainly been moving. Steve had never in his life hated himself more.

Then, because sometimes the universe punishes wrongdoers, the door to the next room opened, and Sam and Natasha walked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forget sometimes how LONG writing takes. I was thinking I would finish this story today, and I got...one chapter. 
> 
> I'm not normally a fan of cliffhangers, but this one was too good to resist. I'll do my best to update soon, because I don't actually hate any of you. 
> 
> Let's see... Obviously, the rating kind of went up on this chapter. Pretty happy with how that turned out, as far as first sex scenes go, but if it's terrible please let me know and I'll drop the rating back down to my regular wheelhouse.
> 
> It was probably pretty obvious, but Bucky was, in fact, wingmanning Sam, because he was falling back on his tried and true tactic of "if Steve is taken, I'll want him less," which never works as well as Bucky thinks it will. 
> 
> Oh, and I had thought about making field day more of an event, with more cameos, but decided once again it would detract from the story and I should not drag this out or even you lovely patient folks will get sick of me.   
> Thank you, incidentally, for your longsuffering persistent readership.
> 
> Up next: I've derailed from my little summary, but I'm thinking Nat chapter (ugh, boys, lemme fix your problems), Sam chapter (this is insane but probably not the dumbest thing I've ever tried), then a conclusion chapter that alternates (breakfast, one last FTSRD operation, return home), and an epilogue, because I'm a sucker for a 'then this happened over the course of happily ever after.'


	14. Natasha yells problems into submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha fully realizes the value of open communication.

Though she had a reputation around the office as something of a dispassionate, uncanny valley style robot, Natasha had always delighted in Field Day. It appealed to her competitive nature, not to mention her longstanding love of childhood games.

And she won a lot. That helped too.

Field Day winners didn't really get prizes, but outstanding moments were applauded during dinner. There was a complex scoring system, based on how long each event took, how many people participated, and the level of skill demonstrated, and the results were projected on the walls for everyone to read at their leisure. Coulson also somehow managed to send a personalized award to every single attendee within a week of the retreat, because he had bureaucratic superpowers but only ever used them for good.

Natasha had all of hers framed on her bedroom wall-not that she ever intended to let anyone at E&L know that.

“Are you having a staring contest with the cookie table?” Natasha greeted Sam, bumping their shoulders together. He was standing contemplatively in front of the ridiculously oversized cookie table, empty plate in hand and look of deep concentration on his face.

“I already ate a ton of dinner,” he answered, gaze not wavering, “but I wanna try one of all of these cookies. Except I also wanna not explode.”

“Truly a problem for the ages,” Natasha deadpanned, then began loading Sam's plate with everything she could reach. “Have you seen our boys?” Sam smiled a little dopily at the possessive, but shook his head. Natasha tried not to get paranoid that Steve and James were hiding from her (and, apparently, from Sam), but she hadn't seen them since early afternoon. It hadn't been that surprising until just recently; dinner was wrapping up, and all of the events were long since over.

“Maybe they went back to the rooms?” Sam suggested. “James gets a little overwhelmed by the crowds sometimes.”

“We'll check before we launch a search party,” Natasha assured him, absently stealing a cookie from his overloaded plate.

“Hey!” he protested, accidentally launching a cookie eating contest as they both tried to get more than their fair share.

* * *

 

“I don't think either of us won,” Sam complained, dragging his feet on the way up the stairs.

“I definitely won,” Natasha said primly, rubbing her unhappy stomach.

“You're like the little devil on my shoulder," he accused. "Spouting bad ideas and making fun of me when they don't work out. Why would you put so many cookies on my plate?”

“Why would you let me?” she injected her voice with far more innocence than she actually had, and Sam laughed as he opened the door to his and Steve's room.

“They must be in yours,” he said, following her to the adjoining door. As soon as she opened it, they both found out exactly why they hadn't seen Steve or James all evening.

Natasha was momentarily dumbfounded by the sheer expanse of skin on the bed. Both men were staring at the pair in the doorway, wide-eyed, but at least they weren't trying to hide what they had been doing. For an agonizing heartbeat, Natasha thought she might actually throw up, the unhealthy quantity of cookies clashing with the surge of jealousy and hurt and betrayal. Then she mastered herself, sternly remembering how little personal stake she had in whatever those two chose to do.

Sure, she thought she and James had taken a couple steps in the direction she wanted, but obviously he had taken her advances to mean another nonexclusive friends-with-benefits situation.

So he didn't love her back, that was fine. She'd be fine. Why wouldn't she be fine?

“Oh. Okay then.” The small voice from behind her snapped Natasha back from her thoughts. Sam was the quickest of the four to recover from the shock-no doubt his pararescue training serving him well, she thought, a little hysterically-and he retreated back into his and Steve's room.

His **and Steve's**.

Steve croaked out a tiny "Sam?" and Natasha was suddenly, blindingly furious. She almost missed Sam grabbing something from his duffle and basically fleeing the room, too busy glaring at the pair on the bed.

James stood and started towards her, looking stricken and sex-mussed and beautiful. Natasha had never been so angry with him in her life.

“What were you thinking?” she growled, too savage to yell, voice doing the violence her fists itched for. Her viciousness exalted in the cutting Russian syllables, bringing to bear the deadly ice of her homeland.

“Natalia,” James started.

“No.” He hadn't earned the right to speak to her yet, and she was far from finished.

“These are my favorite coworkers, James, my friends, OUR friends. How could you do something so cruel? Did you even think about Sam? After how kind he's been, how welcoming, you repay him by fucking his boyfriend? Obviously you weren't acting alone, but I expect better of you! I expect better from both of you.” By the last sentence, her anger was down to a low simmer, coated thick with disappointment.

“They aren't dating,” James offered, still frozen in place reaching for her.

“Excuse me?” The words hadn't quite seeped through her negativity-clouded thoughts.

“They aren't dating. It was fake-that doesn't make this okay, not with the way Sam feels about Steve, but Natalia, you know I wouldn't have done anything to break up a relationship.”

“Just get in the way of one that could have been,” she replied flatly.

“I didn't want to hurt anyone,” James's eyes were tearing up, frustrated helplessness lacing his voice. “But Natalia, it's Steve! He's the only person I've ever loved, besides you. And he loves me! How could I...” he trailed off, running his hand through his hair as the tears started to escape. “How could I not try to grab onto something I want so badly?”

And there, that was how it felt to get your heart broken a second time.

Funny, a distant piece of Natasha mused. It hurts just as bad the second time around.

“You love him,” she managed to reply, and James nodded.

“I always have,” and _fuck_ , would she ever be able to be around him again without worrying how long she'd be able to keep breathing?

“You deserve to be happy with the one you love,” she said, voice firmer than her footing. “But chasing happiness doesn't excuse you to trample all over your friends.”

“I know,” James sighed. “I hate that Sam's probably hurting.”

“Yeah, you should feel bad for hurting Sam,” Natasha ground out, and James looked sharply at her bitter tone.

“Why does this hurt you, Natalia?” he asked, almost pleading. She glared at the wall, refusing to answer, so he continued. “Please, tell me why. Is it... is it because it's not you?”

“Why should you love me?” she snapped, shifting her glare to him. “Why should you look at anyone but the man who's only been around this week?” Instead of rising to the bait, James smiled, risking his remaining hand to come close and cradle her cheek.

“Natalia, doll, you didn't listen,” he chastened. “Steve is the only person I've ever loved, _besides you_.” Natasha stared him down, and the only expression on his face was devotion. And there, that was how it felt to be pieced back together.

“But, this morning...” she protested.

“I should have talked to you,” James admitted, smiling wryly. “I should have thought first. But I didn't know you...felt the same?” The last part was a question, a naked plea for reassurance, and she could only nod. His smile turned brilliant, and it would have been a perfectly romantic moment if he didn't still reek of sex with someone else.

“I should go after Sam,” she said quietly, and guilt flooded James's face once more.

“I'll respect any choice Steve makes,” he promised. “But Natalia... if you want me to choose between you and him, I'm not going to be able to.” She raised an eyebrow, wondering what exactly he was suggesting.

The thought of James and Steve as a package deal wasn't exactly unappealing.

“I'll just keep to myself,” was James's dumber suggestion. “I'm sorry, but you've both got half my heart and I'd rather have nothing than hurt one of you.”

“James, you're an idiot,” she told him fondly, fixing his hair. “You're lucky I love you anyway. Now, it looks like Steve is having a panic attack, and I need to go find Sam. The four of us are going to have to sit down and talk like adults, so maybe you should have pants on. For starters, anyway.”

With a wicked smirk at his thunderstruck expression, she crossed the room to Steve's side of the bed. The blond had shrunk in on himself, eyes blank as he no doubt called himself every terrible name under the sun. Natasha planted a kiss on his crown before she left, murmuring the promise “don't worry, I'll fix this.”

* * *

 

Natasha only left the room about five minutes after Sam, but by the time she found him he had changed into his swim shorts and started doing laps in the deserted pool. She slid off her tennis shoes and socks, tugging her athletic pants up above her knees so she could put her feet in the water. Sam pulled up to a stop next to her, resting his elbows on the tile and looking up at her.

“Hey, you,” she greeted, handing him a towel she had grabbed from the stack by the door.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, drying his face. “You doin' okay? I kinda thought you might...” he trailed off, and she remembered he didn't know she wasn't actually dating James.

Or was she, now? Another thing to discuss. Still, she smirked at him teasingly.

“Thought I might what?”

“Be busy eviscerating some folks,” Sam admitted, and she laughed.

“It's sweet of you to be so considerate of my feelings”-because that's what he was doing; checking in on her emotional reaction- “especially when you came down here to swim away from your own.”

“Nah, I'm just swimming off all those cookies,” he tried to joke, but it fell a little flat.

“I know you weren't actually with Steve,” she told him, trying to make good on her goal of talking like adults. “James and I weren't dating either. So, technically, no one was cheating?”

“There's the fucking bright side, huh?” Sam grumbled. “You brought James as, what, Alexi deterrent?”

“Pretty much,” Natasha admitted. “And because I've been falling in love with him probably since I met him.”

“Ouch,” Sam hissed.

“Not necessarily,” she countered. “He loves me too.” And wasn't that a thrill to say?

“Um,” Sam was obviously looking for a tactful way to phrase his next sentence. “So you don't mind that he and Steve...”

“Are also in love?”

“Yeah. That.”

Natasha had given the prospect additional consideration while she searched for Sam, and had reached a couple conclusions. First, she didn't think she had it in her to deny James something that so obviously made him happy, as long as no one was getting hurt. Second, she was rather fond of Steve, and even if she didn't expect to fall in love with him, she could definitely see them building an even stronger friendship based on mutual respect and their shared adoration of James. She would have liked a chance to discuss things  _before_ they started sleeping together, but such is life. Third, she was just as fond of Sam as she was of Steve, and was really hoping he would want to find a way to fit into whatever the other three of them might construct.

Sam's response, when she told him all of this, was stunned silence.

“Too much?” she asked. It was kind of a lot to spring on a guy all at once-maybe she didn't know Sam well enough to proposition him into a tentative foursome after all?

“Let me think a minute,” he answered, pushing back into the water. “But...don't leave.”

Natasha watched him do a couple more laps, allowing herself to openly admire the strength in his back and arms, and maybe daydream about the contrast of his dark skin against her paleness, or Steve's milky white, or James's honeyed tan.

“You look like you're up to something,” Sam greeted as he toweled off his face once again.

“I'm always up to something,” she agreed. She almost told him exactly what she had been thinking about, but decided not to rush him.

“I'm pretty far gone on Steve,” he started, clearly having gotten his thoughts in order. “And I guess everybody knows that now except Steve himself, so that's on me. I respect the hell outta you, but I'd have to be blind not to see how ridiculously hot you are.” Sam delivered the compliment with a grin, and Natasha smiled back, sure she could be okay with that being his reason for wanting her.

“Of course, I'd have to be stupid to not notice how funny you are, how cute you get when you're excited about something you love, how much of a dork you can be about your movies...” he trailed off, his smile having grown warmer, more fond.

“You're such a sweet talker,” she scolded, using fake bashfulness to try and hide her very real blush.

“I'm sayin', I think I could very easily have a crush on you, Natasha Romanov,” Sam told her seriously, levering himself out of the pool.

“I could very easily have a crush on you too, Sam Wilson,” she replied, letting the truth of the statement show in her smile. He settled himself next to her, smiling back just as sweetly. If the poolside wasn't so uncomfortably cold and damp under her ass, she'd think she was dreaming, with how well things were starting to come together.

“As for James,” Sam started, and Natasha tried not to look too eager. “He's pretty great. We've had a lot of fun this week, and he seems like a real good guy-I thought he was actually trying to help hook me up with Steve, earlier. Except, now part of me wants to punch him in the face, because apparently I'm a cave man.” Natasha laughed, linking her hand with Sam's.

“I understand that. But does it go away if you think about being there with them? Because mine does.” Sam's eyes widened, like he hadn't quite pictured things all the way through yet.

“Sweetheart, you cannot get me that excited when I'm just in swim trunks,” he muttered, and she laughed again. It was nice, how easy the endearment slipped off his tongue.

“I'll take that as a yes?”

“It certainly sounds like a good time could be had by all, if everyone is on board,” he agreed.

“Steve is the only one I'm not sure about, by this point,” Natasha reassured him. His face fell.

“Yeah, he might just want 'Bucky,' huh?” the grim twist of the nickname made Natasha roll her eyes.

“And you, sourpuss.” Sam looked like she had just told him Santa was real.

“Are you sure?”

“Samuel. If he was any more like a lovesick puppy around you, he'd sprout a tail.” Sam grinned dazzlingly, and Natasha clarified her earlier statement. “I'm just not sure how Steve would feel about sharing you boys with me.”

“That seems like something we should ask him,” Sam decided. “As soon as possible. It's time we all put our cards on the table.”

“Finally, someone who sees sense!” she teased, getting to her feet and pulling him with her. Sam caught her other hand as he stood, leaning in close enough for her to kiss if she wanted. He was far enough away that she could play it off as casual, and she appreciated that consideration so much their kiss lasted for several minutes.

“Maybe we shouldn't do this here,” Sam suggested, sounding a little dazed. Natasha was breathing hard too, arms wrapped around his neck while his pulled her close by her waist.

“Yeah, a lot of windows,” she agreed, pulling away reluctantly.

“More like I'm still in my damn swim shorts,” Sam grumbled, wrapping himself in a towel. Natasha laughed all the way back up to their rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaah! I really need to stop writing these so late at night, but I'm antsy to get this story done before school gets really crazy. I like to think the quality hasn't suffered too much, but the last couple chapters will take a little bit longer, since they're going to be a bit more intense.
> 
> Not much to say about this one, except Sam and Natasha almost hooked up in the hot tub. Then I got to thinking about it and decided that's definitely not sexy, or a polite thing to do in a public hot tub. This is why drafts are important, and also impulse control.
> 
> Oh, and I almost made a couple jokes about 'tossing cookies' when Natasha and Sam thought they'd be sick from eating so many cookies, because I'm terrible and I love puns.
> 
> Natasha didn't say anything to Bucky about including Sam, but is like 98% sure he'll go along with it because 1) he loves Steve and will do anything to make him happy, 2) he loves Natasha and will do anything to make her happy, and 3) Sam is a ridiculously attractive man that Bucky would have developed a crush on way sooner if he wasn't distracted by his already existing loves. Natasha knows all of this because Natasha knows all. Except when people have crushes on her.
> 
> I've always been way more fond of Nat and Steve as a brotp than a romantic pairing, but since I couldn't decide which one I like better paired with Bucky, they can use their brotp powers to have an epic friendship that also involves sharing a boyfriend.
> 
> There was a summary in the last update, so far that hasn't changed (I think), so that's what's up next. As always, thank you for reading!!
> 
> That's all for now, because I have a lecture in eight hours and need to sleep.


	15. Sam has probably had worse ideas than this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam makes some decisions that he is sure aren't the craziest things he's done. Even if he can't come up with any specific examples.

Sam had done a lot of ridiculous things in his life. Pararescue training alone was basically a continuous period of doing increasingly stupid tasks to prove physical and mental fortitude, and then there were the actual tours of duty. Not to mention being friends with Steve.

Realistically, potentially entering a polyamorous arrangement with three of the most attractive people he'd ever met-one of whom he was already seriously gone for- couldn't be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever attempted.

It was just really hard to come up with any contenders for the title at the moment.

Natasha had linked her arm through his elbow, apparently not minding that he still smelled strongly of chlorine. Then again, he had soaked her front pretty thoroughly during their makeout session _-_ and nope! He did not need to let his thoughts go in that direction.

Sam was honestly surprised by her earlier admission of a developing crush. He had been floored by the thought that Steve was into him, and hearing that Natasha was as well seemed as likely as winning the lottery. It wasn't that Sam had terrible self esteem, he was just very aware of how attractive his friends were. The probability of them being into him instead of solely each other was staggeringly low, and a tiny part of him was worried this was all some terrible practical joke.

Natasha hadn't kissed like it was a joke.

Then again, he didn't have any frame of reference for how she might normally kiss, did he?

"What happened to that giant smile?" the redhead asked, tugging his arm to draw his attention back from his thoughts.

"I'm kind of dazed, I think," he admitted. "I mean, I've been head over heels for Steve so long I'm just used to not expecting anything but friendship. Then you go and say he feels the same? That's kind of a big deal, and hard to believe considering what we walked in on earlier. Not to mention, you're incredible and I'm a little in awe of you as a person. And James, this sometimes-really-sexy-then-sometimes-really-adorable guy who apparently loves both of you... I'm just a guy, you know?"

Natasha stopped, pulling him around to face her in the middle of the hall. Her piercing gaze made him suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was in just a t-shirt and swim shorts, pants and tennis shoes hanging from his free hand. She ran a hand fondly along his cheek, her own face softening after a quick search of his.

"You really think that?" she asked. "You're amazing too, Sam. Do you think we didn't notice you, always looking out for everyone, making everyone laugh, being such a calming influence when we need someone to lean on?"

Sam was stunned. He really didn't think he'd been that important. Sure, he knew Steve valued his friendship, and he'd liked to think his overtures to Natasha had been the catalyst to her coming out of her shell, and James had seemed genuinely glad for his company when Steve and Natasha weren't around... But hoping to be a positive presence and hearing how much someone values you are two very different sensations. Sam's smile started creeping back onto his face with little input from his brain, and Natasha smiled in return.

"You're not just a guy, Sam," she told him seriously, starting towards the rooms once more. "And it suddenly appears to be a large item on my to-do list to make you realize that."

Before he could say just how much he looked forward to Natasha's endeavors in that direction, he was distracted by the sight of James, standing awkwardly in the hall outside their doors. His hair had been cursorily tamed, and he was wearing yesterday's jeans and t-shirt. Sam guessed the other man had thrown on whatever he could find in order to catch them in the hall, and his heart sank at the contemplation of what James might need to tell them out of earshot from Steve. Was he going to break things off before they even got started? Had the other men talked things over, and decided they didn't want any part of Natasha's scheme after all?

James didn't allay any of Sam's fears when he greeted Natasha with a subdued Russian remark. Natasha's fingers tightened on Sam's arm almost possessively and didn't loosen until James added a few more sentences. The brunet looked contrite, and Natasha brushed her thumb across his cheekbone fondly.

"I'll be inside," she said, and James stepped aside to let her enter Sam and Steve's room.

"Steve's having a shower in our room," he explained. Sam tried not to wince at the reminder of why Steve needed a shower, but the way James's mouth tightened even more indicated a lack of success. Still, the other man squared his shoulders and met Sam's eyes.

"I was hoping for a word with you, before we all talk," he explained, and Sam raised one eyebrow in an invitation to continue. The implication that the four would be talking made him slightly more hopeful.

"It was shitty of me, to let things happen this way," James burst out. "Like, absolute dick move. Um. Pun intended?"

Sam's other eyebrow joined the first, vying to be the closest to his hairline. He resolutely did not laugh.

"Yeah, that was terrible," James admitted, then started explaining himself. His words started out measured, but got increasingly close together as he picked up speed.

"But seriously, I wasn't going to do anything. I really do love Natasha, she's been practically my everything for years, and I knew you have it bad for Steve, and I respect you and I like you-you're a great guy, and I normally kind of hate everyone but I didn't hate you at all, in fact I kind of like you-friend like, I mean, I was really hoping we could be friends, and I was trying to help you out and get Steve to make a move, I was rooting for you two to become a couple because of how happy you obviously make each other, but I told you how fuckin' long I've been stupid for Steve, and hearin' him say he's the same, I just stopped thinkin' and-"

"James," Sam cut him off, finally taking pity on the obviously guilt-wracked man. James pressed his lips together into a thin line, bracing himself for whatever Sam wanted to say. James was radiating sincerity in a way Sam didn't believe him capable of faking, and he could certainly understand being (as James put it) 'stupid for Steve.'

"I know you weren't trying to be a dick," he reassured James. "Obviously I get the way Steve can scramble your brains, too, and I really did notice you trying to wingman me this morning. It just sucked, you know, seein' the guy I was trying to date all over someone else." James nodded, clearly still beating himself up. Maybe Sam had always forgiven too easily, but he found himself unable to hold James's actions against him. At least, not with the prospect of Natasha's proposal in front of him. It would be easy to be bitter if he was left out in the cold, but for now he was mostly wondering how he could get in on the action.

He should probably not think quite so much about the sex aspect before making any decisions.

"I wouldn't blame you for hating me for it," James said, voice small. Sam sighed, running his free hand over his close-cropped hair.

"I don't hate you," he said. "It'll probably take me a few days to sort everything out in my mind. And the outcome will depend on what we all have to say to each other." James nodded, a bit of tension leaving his posture.

"Whenever we were kids, I never got why everyone didn't love Steve the way I do," he said. "It made me so angry, how they didn't get him. You do, I think. You really do, and I'm so glad he has that." James frowned. "Had that?"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions," Sam replied. "Why don't we have that chat we all seem to need?" James nodded, and preceded him into the hotel room.

Natasha was lounged in the comfy chair in the corner, looking like an indolent queen on her throne. Only the minute twitches of her fingertips betrayed anything but utter confidence, and Sam was simultaneously jealous of her control and proud of his growing ability to read her. She was like a puzzle box, layers of defense hiding her true self, but increasingly rewarding to understand. Steve still wasn't in the room, which made James snort and poke his head through the adjoining door.

"Rogers, you never backed down from shit your entire life, get your ass in here!" the brunet yelled, smirking when Steve sheepishly came in from where he had clearly been hiding.

"Sam," he greeted, and Sam hated how tiny his voice sounded. Steve was by no means a small man, but his posture indicated a certain desire to fold into himself until he disappeared. Sam quickly realized that Steve probably thought he had ruined their friendship.

"Steve," Sam returned calmly, settling himself on the low dresser at the foot of the bed.

"Both of you stop waiting for the nuns to crack your knuckles and sit down," Natasha ordered, making Steve and James twitch. They followed her command, though, Steve slumping against the entertainment center and Bucky opting to sit at Natasha's feet.

"This is the part where we talk like adults," she announced, sounding much more confident than Sam thought any of them might feel.

"As opposed to faking relationships and being secretly in love?" James quipped, earning himself a swat to the back of the head. Sam cut in, wanting to make sure everyone was on the same page.

"As far as I can tell, Natasha and James love each other-" the pair nodded, fondness gentling her face while his was a look of utter devotion, "Steve and James were secretly madly in love when they used to know each other and have since rekindled those feelings-" James huffed an embarrassed laugh and Steve turned quite pink, but they both nodded, "and I'm pretty far gone on Steve, who may or may not return those feelings."

Steve's eyes widened and he stared at Sam, hope and disbelief shaping his expression in equal measure.

"You...you really..."

"Seriously? Did you not know?" Natasha demanded. "Ugh, you're both as stupid as each other. He didn't realize you feel the same way either. How did neither of you figure this out?"

"Oh, because you were super aware of how Bucky feels about you?" Steve shot back. Apparently sass was the first reaction to return after he was shocked by something. Natasha maturely replied by sticking her tongue out at him.

"Great adult conversation," Sam congratulated them, and James started laughing.

"There has been nothing about today that isn't completely ridiculous," he managed, completely losing control of his laughter. "I mean, seriously! How is this real life?"

Slowly, the other three began to chuckle as well.

"Maybe we're all a little blind," Natasha admitted.

"And bad at actually talking things out," Steve agreed.

"We're fixing that!" Sam protested. "Or trying. We figured out how people feel-yay, go us, everyone's dumb and loves someone else-so now we have to figure out what to do about it."

The others sobered at that. Natasha looked nervous, but James and Steve were openly distressed.

"Did I ruin everything?" Steve asked quietly. "Sam, you really do mean the world to me. You're my best friend, and even though I'm bad at showing it, I love you. I just... I love Bucky too. And I don't know what to do." The blond looked like he might cry, and Sam cursed his inability to hold his ground against Steve's baby blues.

"I ain't exactly thrilled about how things happened," he responded, "but you didn't ruin everything."

"But where do we go from here?" James asked. "We can't exactly just all date each other."

"Why not?" Natasha challenged. James looked at her in disbelief, and Steve looked like his mind had just been completely blown.

"You really mean that, Talia?" James asked, sitting up on his knees in front of her to meet her eyes. She nodded, and James crumpled to hide his face in her lap. Her hand came up to stroke his hair and she looked at Steve expectantly.

"What do you say, Steve?" she asked. His mouth opened and closed several times before he managed an answer.

"So, Bucky could date both of us? And I could be with Sam too?" Natasha nodded, and Steve swung his now-hopeful stare to Sam, who sighed. Before he could reply, Steve was on his feet and at Sam's side.

"I know I messed up. I was stupid and thoughtless and hurt you and I hate that. But Sam, if you give me just one more chance, I swear I will do my best to do right by you." Steve's warm hands engulfed Sam's, and there was so much open emotion in the other man's voice that Sam would've believed anything he said at that moment.

"Let me take you out," Steve offered. "On a real date, on a bunch of real dates, anything you want to do, everywhere I've ever wanted to take you. I'll be so good to you Sam, because you're always so good to me and I can't think of anything I want to do more than show you how much I care about you." Sam could only nod, awestruck by the outpouring of affection.

"And you'd really be okay with it?" James asked, voice muffled from where his face was still pressed against Natasha's thighs. "You wouldn't mind if he dates you and he dates me?"

Sam felt a tiny flare of disappointment. Natasha had planted the idea in his mind that he might get to date all three of them, but if James wasn't interested, there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Would you be okay with it?" he countered. "If I date Steve and Natasha?" James looked up at that, checking Natasha's reaction.

"Well he hasn't exactly asked me out yet, but if he does I'll say yes," the redhead said with a smirk.

"Beautiful, I will take you on the best date ever the next time our schedules line up," Sam told her, turning on all of his charm. Her response was a delicately arched eyebrow, so he quickly tacked on "that is, if you'd do me the honor of accompanying me." She smiled warmly.

"It would be my pleasure."

James nodded absently, clearly thinking, then asked Natasha something in Russian.

"Such an idiot," she replied fondly, giving him a little shove. "Of course you should, if you want to." James nodded again, then looked back at Sam.

"We should date too," he announced, then faltered. "That is, if you want. You don't have to, I'll get it, I just..."

"Just what?" Sam asked, trying to sound encouraging rather than absolutely thrilled.

"Ilikeyoutooandifwe'realltogetheritwouldbebetter?" James blurted. Steve laughed, leaning his head against Sam's shoulder.

"It would be fun," he murmured, and Sam nodded.

"That's not quite all of us, though," he said, remembering Natasha's uncertainty about Steve. The blond quickly picked up on his implication, and looked at Natasha.

"I've never really thought about you romantically," he told her plainly. She nodded, not looking at all surprised.

"Same. But I must say, I wasn't at all put off by the sight of what you have to offer." Her mouth curled up wickedly, and Steve blushed.

"Maybe we could, sometimes..." Steve trailed off, clearly too embarrassed to continue. Natasha had no such compunctions.

"Share our boyfriends?" she suggested, and James's expression indicated that he was just as on board with that idea as Sam was. Steve nodded, and Natasha's smirk widened.

"That sounds like it could be enjoyable for everyone. Though we should probably wait until things are a little more established..."

"Date awhile before we fall into bed together, you mean?" James asked dryly, looking pointedly at Steve, who blushed yet again. Sam was momentarily distracted by the thought of other ways he could cause that blush.

"That's probably a good idea," Steve agreed, trying to stifle a yawn.

"And we should all be honest with each other," Sam pointed out. "Talk things over as a group before we do anything. That way, nobody gets left behind." He didn't mean to make the other men feel guilty, but everyone quickly agreed with him and Sam knew communication would be key in a relationship as involved as the one they were starting.

"Do we have to sleep in our room, though?" James asked, looking longingly at the bed the four had shared the night before.

"It was nice, sleeping next to all of you," Steve said shyly, but looked at Sam. "I'm serious about treating you right, though. If you don't want to share-even if you don't want to share with me-I won't blame you. Whatever you want." Sam's heart warmed at the offer, and he leaned in to place a kiss on Steve's temple.

"I appreciate the thought. But I was comfy last night too. Natasha?" he asked the only one who hadn't weighed in.

"I slept really well last night," she admitted. "It wouldn't exactly be a hardship to share."

That, Sam thought, seemed to be a pretty good summary of their conversation. There would no doubt be plenty of bumps in the road, but in a relationship built on mutual fondness and open communication, sharing each other would be well worth the effort.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another massive inter-chapter gap! Thanks to everyone still sticking around.
> 
> Sam, beautiful human that he is, does not always recognize what a beautiful human he is, especially when he's distracted by the other three being lovely. He deserves all the good things, and Steve especially is going to go out of his way to be the best boyfriend ever. Sam would be madder at Steve and Bucky, except he can't fault the impulse to sleep with either one of them (since that would be pretty hypocritical) and he isn't jealous now that he knows he can get in on the action. 
> 
> Obviously there will be many more discussions of everything, because the key to any relationship is good communication, and that only increases exponentially with each additional person in the relationship. 
> 
> One more real story chapter, which will wrap up the following plot bits: Alexi's inability to take a hint, the bet Natasha made that Sam and Steve can't make Coulson blush, Steve's stupidly romantic side, and maybe the rules to the Russian license plate game.  
> Then there will be an epilogue, which will include the R&D team's offer to give Bucky a more advanced prosthetic, excerpts from dates, and the way Kate's plan to get Natasha one boyfriend somehow got her three boyfriends. Oh, and probably some sex.


	16. I love it when a plan comes together

Bucky woke up underneath Natasha, as usual. Steve was using his shoulder as a pillow, which was unusual for the past ten years or so. Sam, wrapped up around Steve, was holding Bucky's arm somewhat possessively against the blond's chest, which was entirely new.

It took Bucky a minute to figure out what had woken him, but he eventually registered the vibration of a phone on the nightstand. Sam freed Bucky's arm to grab the phone and silence it.

"...time 'sit?" Bucky murmured, too tired for complete sentences.

"Quarter to six," Steve answered, sounding disgustingly awake for someone with his face still buried in Natasha's hair.

"Ngh," Bucky replied eloquently. Sam huffed a laugh, nudging Steve.

"Whaddya say, man? We runnin' today?" Steve sighed and disentangled himself, following Sam off the bed.

"Go back to sleep, Buck," the blond said fondly.

"'S fuckin' dark o'clock, of course 'm goin' back t' sleep," Bucky slurred, letting his eyes drift closed again. He was vaguely aware of the other men moving around, despite their efforts to be quiet, but Natasha's breathing and the warm cocoon of blankets soon lured him back into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Steve spent the entire time it took to get ready for the gym psyching himself up for the walk there. It paid off as soon as he joined Sam in the hall, casually collecting the other man's hand in his.

"Is this a thing we're doing now?" Sam teased, and Steve wished he didn't blush so easily.

"Really, we've been holding hands all week," he pointed out. "Not to mention general cuddliness and flirtation."

"Oh, is that what was happening? That your best game, Rogers?"

"Seems effective," Steve retorted, now blushing even more. "Got my best guy to agree to go out with me."

"And your other best guy into bed."

Steve knew Sam had intended it as a joke, but the comment came out a little bitter, and Steve felt a massive surge of guilt.

"Sam, you know I-" he started, but Sam shook his head.

"I know man, I know. It's not fair for me to hold that against you when I already said I wouldn't. It still stings a little, but I'm working on it."

"Sam." Steve stepped in front of the other man, stopping them face-to-face in the middle of the hallway, and linked their free hands. Blue eyes locked on brown as Steve willed every drop of sincerity he could muster into his words.

"Samuel Wilson. You have been my best friend for years. You're basically the foundation of my adult self- I don't know who I would be if I hadn't met you, but I know that guy wouldn't be nearly as happy as I am. I'm not always the best at feelings, but even before I realized I was IN love with you, I knew how much you matter to me. So don't ever think you have to get over something for my sake. Your feelings are important, because you're important, and I never want to make you unhappy again."

Sam blinked, even more caught off guard by the outpouring of words than Steve was. The silence stretched on another moment, and Steve was quickly becoming convinced he had overstepped, maybe had scared Sam off for good...

"In love, huh?" the other man finally managed. Steve knew his face was turning bright red, but Sam's grin was dazzling. The blond managed a nod, and Sam ducked his forehead against Steve's collarbone.

"How long?" he asked. Steve thought a moment.

"I don't actually know. I really am bad at feelings. Probably awhile-at least a year or so- but I noticed at the gym a couple mornings ago."

"Probably awhi- a year or- NOTICED?" Sam was evidently unsure which part of the statement to address first, so he decided to simply laugh at the entire situation. "Man, how are you even real?"

"I just didn't really think about it," Steve defended himself.

"Oh, wait," Sam gasped, still laughing. "You said you noticed the other morning. Is that why you short circuited?" Steve nodded, cursing the pale complexion that was loudly broadcasting his embarrassment, and Sam laughed even harder. There was nothing for the blond to do but stand there while Sam basically collapsed against him, fists in Steve's shirt and face buried in his shoulder to muffle his amusement. Steve placed his hands on Sam's waist in a move to push him upright, but decided he liked the feel of their bodies pressed together after all.

"You two have a room for that," came an amused drawl from behind Steve. Sam almost fell over when his support post whirled to face the new occupant of the hallway, who turned out to be a smirking Wade Wilson.

"We were on our way to work out," Steve informed him stiffly. Wade was dressed in clothes wrinkled enough to have spent the night on someone's floor, and he was carrying his shoes. He was also leaning against the wall casually, as though he was glad to settle in and watch whatever show they might put on.

"By all means, don't let me stop you," Wade replied, giving the pair a once-over that made Sam stand up a little more out of Steve's personal space. "If hallway hanky-panky is your workout, it's clearly working for you. Anybody need a spotter?"

"How have you not been fired?" Sam demanded incredulously. He had once told Wade that he was approximately twelve lawsuits waiting to happen. Rather than be deterred, Wade had made a t-shirt proudly proclaiming this fact.

"We're going to the gym," Steve declared, having long ago learned that Wade was basically a natural disaster, and it was best to go about life as normally as possible and hope his effects eventually went away. Fortunately, Wade decided not to follow them, and they made it to the gym in relative peace. Sam was still chuckling every few minutes, but they settled into their regular morning jog without further discussion.

* * *

"Me too, you know," Sam finally managed to say. He had been mulling over Steve's hallway declaration throughout their run, and it wasn't until they were almost done with their cool down that he figured out how to reply.

"You too what?" Steve asked, and Sam remembered that the blond had not, in fact, been listening to his inner monologue this whole time and was therefore not on the same conversational track. Ugh, Sam was going to have to actually _say things._

"I might kind of love you too," he told his sneakers, stretching his hamstrings. Steve was silent, and Sam wondered how the second person to declare feelings could possibly be the one to fuck things up. Risking a glance at (his boyfriend? could he say boyfriend now?) revealed that Steve hadn't replied because he was, apparently, broken. The blond's mouth had fallen open, and he stared at Sam with wide eyes.

"Really?" he croaked, and Sam nodded, standing up straight because he was a grown man, dammit, and he could handle his emotions. Then Steve's face bloomed into the most magnificent grin Sam had ever seen, and he was being enveloped in the most bone-crushing hug of his life.

"I want to kiss you," Steve whispered into Sam's neck. "I wasn't kidding about taking you out on dates. All of the dates. And it's stupid and cliche to want to kiss first after a date, but _Sam..._ "

Sam pulled back a little, nosing at Steve's temple until the other man looked up at him.

"You're not the only one with a long-time crush," he informed his definitely-boyfriend. "The real reason seeing you and James together hurt so much is that I didn't know how much I mean to you. With all the flirting this week, I had started hoping, even though I tried so hard not to before. Our friendship is really important to me, and I never wanted to wreck that with feelings."

"We'll always be friends, Sam," Steve assured him hurriedly. "Even if we break up, I'm great at staying friend with my exes..." he trailed off, looking horrified at what he had just said. "Not that I want to break up!"

"Man, you really don't have _any_ game," Sam teased, and Steve huffed a tiny laugh.

"But you like me anyway?" he said coyly, managing to look up at Sam through his lashes even though Sam was shorter than him.

"At least a little," Sam offered graciously, and they were both smiling when their lips met.

It was everything a first kiss was 'supposed' to be-sweet, gentle, a little bit awkward until they figured out where to put their noses, and full of promise. Then Sam swiped his tongue across Steve's plush bottom lip and Steve moaned _far_ too obscenely for a public gym at seven in the morning. That sound, accompanied by Steve's mouth opening in the most blatant invitation Sam had ever received, revved the chaste kiss up into something else entirely.

Their torsos were plastered together, uncaring for the post-workout sweat that made their clothes cling to them. Steve wrapped one hand around Sam's neck while the other snaked around to flirt with the back hem of his shirt, lightly skimming the skin above the waistband of Sam's shorts. Sam, meanwhile, was happily indulging himself in something he had wanted to do quite possibly since he first set eyes on Steve in blue jeans. He made a pleased noise as he discovered that he had been right this whole time: Steve's ass fit _excellently_ in his hands. Steve also seemed pleased with this discovery, if the way their hips were pressing together was any indication.

Unfortunately (as Sam had managed to forget), they were in a public space. This fact was brought to their attention when the gym door closed loudly enough to make them jump apart. There was no time to make themselves presentable before Skye rounded the corner. She paused at the sight of them, then burst out laughing.

"Good morning, Skye," Steve said politely, turning bright red. Knowing there was no recovering from this, Sam took Steve's hand and led him towards the door.

"Morning, Skye," he told her cordially, with a grin that he knew she would interpret as smug. She cracked up again, and the men made it all the way to the stairwell before doing the same.

"We just got caught making out in the gym," Steve gasped. "We are adults. We just got caught making out in the gym." Sam was laughing too hard to comment, pulling Steve in for a series of quick, relatively chaste kisses.

"I'm really not complaining," he said, once he had finally calmed down. The subsequent kiss was much more serious, though it lacked the intent of the heavy makeout session. " _Really_ not complaining."

"Yeah," Steve agreed breathlessly, looking a little dazed. Sam was mildly proud of his kissing skills. Dazed was a good look on Steve. And if it allowed Sam to urge him up the stairs first, putting that adorable butt right in his eyeline? Just an added bonus.

* * *

Natasha woke up in one of her favorite spots; namely, on top of James. She never fell asleep on him-in fact, most times when they tried to achieve this position conscious it simply didn't work out- but in sleep he inevitably gravitated under her like she was an extra blanket. His breathing was slow enough that he was still asleep, but a quick glance at the clock showed her they would both have to be awake soon. Deciding she maybe felt a little bit entitled to revenge for having to find out about James's feelings for Steve so abruptly, Natasha shifted just enough to line her mouth up with her target.

She started slow, not even kissing so much as lightly dragging her lips along the tendons of his neck. When he began to stir, she changed tactics, gently tugging his earlobe between her teeth and sliding one of her legs between his. Her coup de gras was a sudden bite where his shoulder and neck met, and James woke up with a gasp.

"Morning," she told him innocently, and when he looked at her his pupils nearly blotted out the color in his eyes.

"Natalia," he growled hungrily, flipping them so that he was hovering over her. She absolutely did not gasp. She had no idea where that breathy, delighted sound had come from.

"Mor-" she tried to start again, but he cut her off with a searing kiss. One of his thighs was still between her legs, doing terribly interesting things, and she let her hands come up to run through his hair, pulling a little. He groaned at the sensation, but rolled off of her.

"Doll, we gotta stop," he told her, breathing heavily. "We promised our boyfriends we'd talk things over before moving too fast, and if we don't stop now I'm not gonna be able to keep myself away from you."

Natasha felt a tiny thrill at "our boyfriends," but couldn't help wondering why James was able to stop with her when he hadn't been able to with Steve. Jealousy did not bode well for their new arrangement, so she viciously tamped it down. Of course, James knew her too well to fall for her smile.

"Natalia," he said again, this time so full of warmth and love it made her heart hurt a little. She allowed him to pull her close, pepper her hair with light kisses. "It's because of the way you looked at me yesterday."

Unsure what he meant, Natasha propped her chin up on his chest to fix James with a quizzical stare, prompting him to continue.

"I had no idea what I meant to you." His voice was so soft, even just between the two of them. "I never imagined it could hurt anyone, but now that I know... You and Steve are my life, Natalia, and I'd rather lose my other arm than hurt either of you or Sam again."

"Jamie," and she hoped her voice conveyed just as much fondness as his did, "you really are an idiot. But you're my idiot." She kissed him again, a light, calming kiss that managed to diffuse all of the tension surrounding them. Sam and Steve came back as she and James were pulling apart, and she greeted them with a smile.

"Our idiot," she amended, and James laughed. The quartet exchanged good mornings, and Natasha noticed how flushed the other two looked. Running could certainly put color in your cheeks like that, but she was fairly sure it didn't make your mouth that plump and shiny.

"You two were kissing," she announced, delighted by the thought. To her surprise, they both started laughing.

"Skye walked in on us making out in the gym," Sam managed to inform them, and Natasha laughed as well.

"He's good, isn't he?" she asked Steve conspiratorially, and Steve's ears got a little redder.

"I'll probably have to test it out some more, but no complaints so far," he teased.

"That makes me feel better about being woken up with a makeout session," James said, climbing out of bed and stretching. Natasha noticed both of the other men tracking the movement appreciatively. "So long as we all got kissed this morning."

"Though maybe we ought to talk about doing more than kissing sooner rather than later," Sam chimed in, and all three of them looked at him in surprise. "Not to rush anybody, but we ought to have a plan ahead of time, because if I keep getting kissed the way you both do-" he pointed mock-accusingly at Steve and Natasha "-I may not be able to keep my wits about me."

"Wait, so Bucky and Sam are the only ones who haven't kissed?" Steve asked. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, and he mimicked the action. "We don't count, Romanov, we're not dating. Bros don't have to kiss-unless you want to?"

"I'm good without, unless there's intent to go somewhere with it," she decided, and he nodded decisively. "So, Sam and Bucky?"

"To be fair, we haven't had much opportunity," James grumbled.

"You have opportunity now," Natasha said helpfully, going to stand by Steve. A united front was probably the best way to deal with their shared men.

"Well, I'm not gonna argue with that," Sam said with a grin. James caught one of Sam's hands in his, almost absently bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. He was so cute sometimes it made Natasha want to hit things.

"Don't let these assholes pressure you into anything," he told Sam softly. "I get it if you're not cool with kissing me yet. Hell, I'm just glad you agreed to give going out with me a shot."

"Man, you think I'm gonna turn down someone as awesome as you?" Sam brought his free hand up to James's chin. "Pretty sure I get why Natasha was callin' you an idiot."

"Your idiot," James mumbled, blushing both at the compliment and his own cheesiness, Natasha was sure. But he was swaying into Sam's hand, and Natasha heard Steve literally holding his breath next to her.

"Stop me if you don't want this," Sam told James seriously, "but you'd better believe I'm pretty darn into it, myself."

James didn't move, eyes staying wide until Sam's lips gently met his own. With a quiet sigh, James's eyes slid closed and he practically melted into Sam's kiss. Steve let out the breath he had been holding with a quietly whispered expletive, and Natasha nodded.

"This is the best relationship I've ever agreed to," she told him gravely, holding out her fist. Steve bumped it with equal solemnity. There was a flash of tongue in the kiss, and Natasha bit her own lip in sympathetic arousal. Of course, that was when her alarm finally started going off, making Sam and James startle apart.

"Well, this has been a fun morning," Sam said with a smug grin that was belied by his slightly erratic breathing. "I'm gonna grab a shower before breakfast."

 "Same," Steve said, moving to gather his clothing.

"Cold showers all around," James grumbled. Natasha hadn't realized how tense the room had gotten until they all four broke it with laughter.

"Alright, boys, lets get ourselves presentable for company," she told them, doing her best to act unaffected by the morning's activities. "After breakfast, it's just the car ride home."

Nobody said anything, but she was fairly certain they were all on the same page about some things that might happen after that.

* * *

 Bucky was trying very hard to enjoy his breakfast, but Coulson was giving a rather distracting heartfelt speech.

“Final day breakfast is hard on everyone,” Sam chastised when Bucky complained. “Let him have his moment.”

“Besides, this is the most emotion Coulson shows all year,” Steve added. Bucky was fairly sure he wasn’t joking.

“Two years ago, he made someone in accounting cry,” Natasha said. Bucky was certain she was telling the truth.

Eventually, the speech wrapped up, and Bucky saw someone a few tables over surreptitiously dabbing at his eyes. The people at this company were so bizarre.

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t throw stones, since he was now dating three of them.

“What’s with the big dopey smile?” Steve’s left eyebrow asked.

“He’s just really happy,” Natasha’s eyebrows answered. Bucky’s smile got bigger and dopier as he watched them manage to communicate via expression, and his face threatened to split when a foot hooked around his ankle under the table. He didn’t think he’d ever been this happy-which, of course, should have cued him in that something unpleasant was happening.

“Natalia, my ballerina,” the unpleasantness greeted. Alexi had clearly brought his A game for one final push, though Bucky was astounded he hadn’t taken a hint yet. Sam and Steve seemed to agree, but Alexi continued on, ignoring everyone but Natasha. “I will admit, now, that I behaved badly when we were younger. But you are so much better than what you are doing with your life, and you should be by my side, where I can pamper you as you deserve. Come back home to Russia with me, to live like the princess this idiot can’t even see that you are.”

All three of Natasha’s companions were ready to cut in, despite two of them not understanding the speech, but the redhead placed a palm flat on the table and her boys settled immediately. The gesture was her tacit promise to deal with the situation, and once Natasha dealt with something, that thing stayed dealt.

“Alexi, I will tell you this in Russian because I want to be sure it gets through your obnoxiously thick skull,” she began, all polite professionalism. She faced her former lover, somehow appearing taller than him despite only coming up to his chin. “We have been finished for years. We were finished the day you refused to even look at me when I needed your support. Nothing you say or do now can possibly redeem you, especially when you have spent so much of our time this week insulting my friends, my job, and my life. You’re toxic and callous and I will not be taken in by you again, and I will advise you one final time to drop this before you have completely exhausted my goodwill.”

Through it all, Natasha’s smile was sweet as antifreeze and twice as deadly. Bucky wanted to applaud, a little bit, but Alexi’s face contorted with rage.

“You stupid whore,” he hissed. They had been speaking at a normal volume, but the tension was starting to draw attention. “You were nothing before me, and you are nothing without me. You should be grateful for the offer to take you away from your garbage can life and your useless new friends, and you throw it in my face? You will regret this.”

The theatric speech finally pushed Bucky to stand up.

“Doll,” he told Natasha conversationally, “I’m going to punch his stupid face.”

“Darling,” she replied in the same tone, “I’m not going to stop you.”

Alexi sneered and raised his fists in defense, but Bucky was already swinging, and his uppercut sent the Russian sprawling.

“That was more his chin than his face,” Coulson observed drily. Bucky startled a little at his sudden appearance, but liked to think the surprise didn’t show. The company VP calmly asked “would anyone care to tell me what just happened?”

“Mr. Shostakov has been harassing Natasha all week, despite repeated requests to stop. His reaction to her latest rejection was unpardonably rude and Mr. Barnes took it upon himself to respond,” Steve explained, moving to stand in a posture that screamed his willingness to fight anyone. As usual, the blond was ready to put himself between Bucky and danger. It was much more effective now that he was no longer tiny and adorable.

“At least,” he added with a small flush, “that’s what seemed to happen. I don’t speak Russian.” Now he was giant and adorable. Bucky would be more delighted if he wasn’t waiting to be arrested.

A representative of building security arrived, presumably summoned by one of the bystanders. He was a wiry old man who seemed quite excited to have something to do besides watch the cameras.

“Please escort Mr. Shostakov to his suite so the E&L employees can finish their breakfast undisturbed,” Coulson requested, then addressed Alexi while the security guard pulled him up off the floor. “I’m afraid our companies will not be doing business after all, Mr. Shostakov. Our legal department will be in touch within the week to ensure that everything is taken care of.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky managed, then barely refrained from slapping a hand over his mouth. But seriously, did this guy just cancel an international contract on the say-so of his employees?

“We were on the fence about partnering with Red Guardian,” Coulson told the small crowd that had gathered. “This week was to determine our willingness to go through with the deal, and I will not bring E&L into partnership with a company that does not treat employees with respect.” At this point he turned to Alexi, shaking his head disapprovingly. “There have been multiple unsatisfactory reports of your behavior this week. I don’t like when people mistreat my employees. It makes me very unhappy.”

Alexi’s face was, by this point, a scientifically interesting shade of reddish-purple, and he jerked his arm out of the security guard’s grip.

“You will not walk away from this so lightly,” he threatened, pointing first to Bucky, then Coulson. “I will be charging you with assault, you thug, and Red Guardian will not look kindly on this breach of contract, and-“

The Russian cut off suddenly as Natasha stepped delicately into his space like she owned it. Her hands were clasped primly behind her back, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said was too quiet for Bucky to hear and most likely incomprehensible to anyone who didn’t speak Russian, but Alexi’s face rapidly paled. By the time she moved back to Bucky’s side, Alexi had broken a thin sweat along his hairline and was allowing himself to be escorted from the room.

“There will be no lawsuits,” Natasha declared, and for a split second Bucky could see Natalia Romanova, the deadliest beauty of the Russian underworld. As much as he loved the woman she had matured into, the glimpse of her old self sent a dangerous thrill straight to his core. He really hoped the four of them got to talk soon, because Bucky for one was very ready to let Natasha do whatever she wanted to him.

* * *

 Sam was very curious about whatever Natasha had said to make Alexi finally back off, but had a feeling he wouldn't get to find out until the car ride home at the earliest. The redhead was examining James's knuckles for damage while somewhat pointedly informing him that she still did not need him to fight her battles.

"I know you didn't need me to, doll," James told her, apparently oblivious to how ridiculously charming it was when he called her that. "But the nice thing about bein' in a relationship with someone is gettin' to do things for people because you _want_ to."

 Natasha's face softened a little at that and she hauled James in for a truly spectacular kiss. Having been on the receiving end of both parties, Sam only barely restrained himself from wolf-whistling. Skye, despite her lack of insider knowledge (Sam presumed), felt no such compunctions.

"Really, Skye?" Coulson grumbled, since she had practically whistled directly into his ear.

"I always appreciate a good show," she replied cheerfully. "Speaking of which, how was your workout this morning, Sam? Steve?" Coulson frowned as Skye addressed the pair, but before he could respond, Steve's arm had settled around his shoulders.

"It was pretty good, what we managed to do in the gym," the blond said in the voice that only sounded serious if you didn't know how much of a little shit he could be. "At home, of course, we can exercise much more...thoroughly."

Skye stared, clearly trying to determine what exactly Steve meant, but Coulson had clearly already drawn his own conclusions.

"Right, well, I'll see you all at checkout," he said abruptly, then walked away a little too quickly to be casual.

"Oh my god," Skye clutched blindly at Darcy's arm, and the other brunette absently squeezed her hand.

"Oh my god is right," Darcy agreed. "Did everyone else see that? Did that really just happen?"

Natasha, still held close to James's chest, reluctantly slid two twenties across the table. Steve happily accepted both of them, because Sam was too busy hiding his face in his boyfriend's (ridiculously built) shoulders and muttering under his breath.

"First the winking, the winking was bad enough, but Coulson blushing? I'm not made to withstand shit like this!"

* * *

 Checkout, though busy, was uneventful, and the four soon found themselves loaded back into the car on the way home. Bucky had almost immediately asked Natasha how she had scared Alexi off, and she let them all guess what she had said.

Sam was fairly certain it was the promise of financial ruin, brought about by utterly destroying Red Guardian's reputation.

Steve guessed bodily harm, up to and including an ignominious end in an unmarked grave.

Bucky's guess provided a bit more insight into the pair's less than legal past, since he thought she might have threatened to call in some favors with the old criminal crowd.

Natasha's actual strategy, surprisingly enough, was much simpler and much less expected.

"I told him if he followed through on any of those lawsuits, I'd tell his mother how he was acting."

"Wait, you threatened to tell on a grown man to his mother?" Sam demanded incredulously. "And it worked?"

"You've clearly never met his mother," Natasha said. "She's terrifying. Obviously. And she absolutely detested me, so to find out that her son wanted to waste company resources on lawsuits because I turned him down? That would not be a peaceful night in the Shostakov household."

"That's fantastic," Bucky told her. "I can't believe you didn't just do that from the start."

"I had forgotten, a little, about what a mama's boy he still is," Natasha admitted. "But that day of meetings I had to sit through with him was all 'Mother said,' 'Mother wants,' and it sort of sparked my memory."

"I knew you could handle things without me," Bucky said, kissing her cheek sweetly.

"And I knew I didn't want to," she responded. Sam and Steve, mature adult that they were, immediately chorused 'awww.'

Bucky laughed, but Natasha sighed heavily.

"I suppose the competition is over, Wilson," she told Sam. "Now we both have the cutest boyfriends."

Sam held a hand up over his shoulder and Natasha high-fived him obligingly. Steve figured this was probably the best time to bring up the discussion they had mentioned having, and did so with his usual social grace.

"So, about how we're going to do things," he started, and pulled out the little notebook he had marked some ideas down in. Bucky leaned as far over Steve's seat as his seat belt would allow, and immediately started laughing.

"You took notes? Stevie, it's offensive how precious you are."

Steve didn't get a chance to respond before Natasha and Sam both voiced their agreement, leaving the blond blushing.

Well, Steve thought, there were worse things to be ganged up on for.

The rest of the ride was spent hammering out the details of their proposed arrangement, interspersed with attempts to get Natasha to list a definitive set of rules for her license plate game. One of those conversations went significantly better than the other.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this only took about 7 times longer than I hoped it would. Everyone still with me, I adore you each individually and as a collective. Only one chapter after this, I think, depending how detailed I feel the need to make their dates...  
> I've actually been working on this chapter for awhile, and haven't managed to come up with a better title yet. But, here it is! Thanks again for reading.


	17. Back to real life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quartet settle back in to their lives and plan for the following weekend.

After a frankly emotionally exhausting week in each other’s pockets, the quartet had agreed to spend the weekend apart in order to think things through independently. Everyone had parted with kisses on cheeks – Natasha had even given Steve a friendly peck, though he had a feeling it was just to make him blush – that left a warm feeling that lasted Steve through the evening. Settling into a bed by himself after a week of sharing was a disappointment, but Steve was worn out enough to fall asleep quickly anyway.

The next morning, his internal clock had him up with the sun. On a normal Saturday, he might go to the gym, or a farmer’s market, but he couldn’t get himself out of bed when he realize he would have done either of those things with Sam. Sam who, like the other two, wanted a weekend without contact.

Well, that was fine, Steve could be by himself for two days. He was a grown man, he wouldn’t get sad because his three friends wanted space. That was the thought that kept Steve in bed even longer – he really did have just the three friends in the city. He wanted to call Peggy and Angie, but it was still terribly early on the West Coast, and he wasn’t about to piss off the only two other people he might be able to interact with.

Steve spent the rest of the weekend alternating between wallowing in self-deprecation and sternly ordering himself to be productive. One of those things got considerably more time spent on it than the other, and by Monday morning he was practically ready to claw at the walls of his apartment. He got to his and Sam’s usual meeting point twenty minutes early, hating how much he needed to be reassured he hadn’t dreamt the last week. He was half convinced Sam wouldn’t even meet to run before work, but busied himself with warmup stretches. Sam would show up, they would still be boyfriends, and Steve would stop being an idiot and let himself enjoy the good things in his life.

Or, at least, two out of three of those.

                   -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam had been glad for the weekend decompression time, but by Monday morning he was definitely ready to see his datemates again. One of the things he loved best about being in a relationship was the knowledge of someone being there for him for anything, big or small, so it seemed ridiculous to ever have to feel lonely now that he not only had a girlfriend, but two boyfriends as well.

One of those boyfriends was waiting for him at their usual meeting spot, looking sinful in his running gear. Sam let himself appreciate the piece of art that was Steve doing warm-up stretches, reveling in the way the appreciation no longer came with a healthy dose of shame for ogling his best friend.

“You look happy this morning,” Steve greeted, but there was something off in his smile. His stupidly broad shoulders had a slight hunch, and it only took Sam a minute to recognize what he has seeing. Leaving Steve alone with his thoughts for 48 hours clearly hadn’t done the blonde any favors, and Sam would bet his entire life savings that Steve was at least half convinced Sam had decided they shouldn’t date. Sam would also bet his mother’s famous chocolate chip cookie recipe that Steve would instantly back off and do his best to keep their friendship unchanged if that was what Sam wanted. Clearly, it was up to Sam to convince Steve he very much did not want that.

“Who wouldn’t be happy?” Sam asked, gathering Steve’s hands in his. “The weather’s nice, work shouldn’t be too crazy, and there’s been a slight change in my morning routine.”

“A change?” the blond asked, shoulders squaring a little at the hand-holding.

“Yeah,” Sam responded. “Now, I can greet you the way I’ve wanted to for a while.”

“And how’s that?” Steve whispered, leaning in like he already knew the answer. Sam kissed him, light and sweet. He was tempted to deepen the kiss, but Steve smiled into it like he couldn’t help himself, and Sam decided it was more important to see the incredulously happy look on his boyfriend’s face than it was to taste it.

“I like your new routine,” Steve said decisively. The blond was still grinning when they finished their run and went to their respective apartments to get ready for work.

             ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky and Natasha may have been hoping for a quiet weekend, but they really should’ve known better, considering who their best friends were.

“You’re baaaaaack!!” Kate greeted them excitedly. Clint and Lucky the golden retriever were tussling on the floor between the couch and the front door, apparently competing to see who got to jump on the returning vacationers first.

“Why is your dog in our apartment?” Bucky grumped, putting on his best angry-at-the-world face.

“Because you love him even more than you love us,” Kate answered, holding her arms open in a tacit demand that they come to her for hugs. Feigning ignorance of her desires, Natasha and Bucky simultaneously high-fived her open hands as they walked past the couch to their rooms.

“You’re both terrible,” she informed them over her shoulder. “And you’d better have brought me back a good souvenir!”

“Aww, I knew we forgot something,” Bucky called, debating the feasibility of just collapsing face-first onto his bed.

“We didn’t forget,” Natasha countered, voice muffled slightly by the walls between them. “We never planned to bring anything for these losers.”

“Excuse you, these losers have spent the week housesitting for you!” Clint protested.

“You’d better not be calling Lucky a loser, Barton, and I know you weren’t talking about me.” Bucky smiled and sat on his bed, listening to the familiar sound of Kate and Clint bickering.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted him softly. She was leaning against his door frame, somehow having already changed into sweatpants and a hoodie that may have once belonged to Bucky, judging by how large it was on her.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, smiling sweetly at her because he could. As usual, she immediately realized what he was doing and stuck her tongue out at him.

“I’m happy too,” she admitted, then grinned wickedly. “Do you want to mess with our nearest and dearest friends?”

“Natalia, my heart of hearts, you always know what to say to keep your men interested,” he declared, following her back out into the living room. Kate and Clint had settled back down, but Lucky frisked excitedly around Bucky and Natasha’s ankles until Bucky settled onto the floor. The dog immediately rolled over for a belly rub, which Bucky obligingly provided.

“So?” Kate demanded, pulling Natasha to sit between her and Clint. The three fell together with the sort of ease Bucky rarely managed – although, he reflected, he had done pretty well during the trip.

“So what?” Natasha asked, collected as ever.

“So tell us everything, obviously,” Clint demanded. “How was the trip, how did Katie-Kate’s plan work, are you two dating yet?”

“Are we what?” Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise so genuine even Bucky wasn’t sure it was completely fake. He stared at Clint as well, and Kate slapped her adopted brother in the arm.

“You tactless nincompoop!” she hissed over Natasha’s head. “What happened to asking them casually?”

“That was totally casual!” Clint protested. “There were other questions in there!”

“Why would we be dating?” Natasha asked, all innocence. “We both have boyfriends.”

“You what?” Clint demanded, and Kate actually stood up, throwing her hands in the air in disgust.

“No!” she yelled, legitimately startling Natasha and Bucky. Lucky barked once, but continued wagging his tail when Bucky resumed the belly rub.

“No?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Kate confirmed, pacing in frustration. “No, you two do not get to go on a perfect vacation pretending to be dating, after years of the most ridiculous sexual tension I’ve ever seen, and come back with OTHER BOYFRIENDS!”

“What Kate is trying to say,” Clint interjected, “is that we really thought you two might finally realize how in love you are with each other during this trip. Clearly, despite being otherwise intelligent people, you two still don’t get it.”

“How in love we are?” Natasha asked. Bucky hoped he was the only one who caught the mischief in her tone.

“Why would you think we’re in love?” he asked, unsure how long Natasha planned to string their friends along but completely willing to roll with her plan.

“Why would we- Why would we thing- You IDIOTS!” Kate yelled. With a disgusted noise, she threw her hands in the air again and stormed into the kitchen.

“Seriously, you two, you’ve practically been together for ages,” Clint told them. “We’ve thought you started dating like twelve times since we all met. So finding out that there are other boyfriends is something of a shock.”

“AND THE OTHER BOYFRIENDS!” Kate shouted, reentering the living room with a beer. At least they hadn’t quite driven her to the hard liquor.

“It’s not like we planned it,” Bucky said defensively.

“Yeah, we just found ourselves in a romantic situation, and Sam and Steve are pretty great guys,” Natasha added. Kate made another disgruntled noise at ‘romantic situation,’ but seemed too indignant to talk.

“Well, obviously we’ll have to meet them,” Clint sighed, apparently resigned to their lack of love. “And hope they get the whole basically-dating-without-the-sex dynamic you two have going on.”

“We definitely want you to meet them,” Bucky said, at the same time Natasha protested “James and I don’t not have sex.” Kate spat out her drink.

“You what?” she demanded. “No, seriously, if you’re telling me that on top of all the couple-y shit you two already do, you’re also fucking, then I refuse to believe you’re not dating. I refuse!”

“I don’t see why we have to put a label on it,” Bucky said, since Natasha was too busy giggling at the spit-take to respond.

“Because you’re dating! And now you have other boyfriends!” Kate’s voice had reached an impressively high register. Lucky tried to burrow under Bucky’s leg to protect his ears.

“Our boyfriends don’t mind,” Natasha finally managed. “After all, they’re dating each other too.”

Kate stared between them, mouth open in shock, and evidently reached the conclusion that they were telling the truth. She stomped back into the kitchen and this time returned with a half-full bottle of vodka and some orange juice. Flopping back onto the couch, she took a swig of the vodka, passed the bottle to Clint, and sipped at the orange juice.

“Alright,” she grumbled. “Start explaining.”

                     -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natasha reflected that a better person might feel bad about toying with their friends, but she had long ago made peace with the kind of person she was. Anyway, her friends loved her, and that meant she was clearly doing something right.

“That was fun,” James said, confirming yet again how well matched they were. Kate and Clint had left for their own apartment with some not-so-subtle hints that they would stay but didn’t want to get in the way of what they clearly thought was going to be a weekend-long sex marathon.

“They took it pretty well,” Natasha agreed as the pair deftly completed their nighttime rituals without getting in the others way. James chuckled softly, and she quirked an eyebrow to ask why.

“Obviously they weren’t surprised about us,” he explained. “Everyone always thinks we’re together anyway. And they’re hardly going to blame us for being in a poly relationship when they’re both so pro-love-in-every-form-that-isn’t-hurting-anyone. Honestly, I think the thing that surprised them the most is that we found two other people we like enough to be with.”

“We are misanthropic to a bit of an extreme,” she giggled, then stopped when she realized they had both automatically headed for James’s bed. They typically slept in his room, except for the rare nights when one or the other needed space – though now that she thought about it, Natasha couldn’t remember the last night they had spent apart.

“This is actually ridiculous,” James huffed, apparently on a similar train of thought. “How did we not get our act together before this week?”

“Maybe we are as stupid as Kate said?” They climbed into bed, settling on their long-since claimed sides of the mattress and turning out the lights.

“Is it okay that we’re doing this?” James asked, startling like the thought had brought him back from the edge of sleep.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked. “Because of the weekend apart thing?” She heard him nod against his pillow.

“Do you want to sleep alone?”

He stayed silent.

“You have to answer before I tell you what I want to do.”

“…I’d like if you stayed,” his voice was small, like she didn’t know how badly he tended to sleep on his own.

“I’d like to stay too,” she reassured him, finding his hand in the dark. “We can spend the day apart tomorrow, but sharing a bed isn’t something we’re changing, so I don’t see why we should need time to think about it.” Tension she hadn’t even realized existed flew out of James’s body, and they were both soon fast asleep.

                      --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seeing Natasha at work on Monday could’ve been awkward, but Sam worked his social magic and made it completely normal for her to join his and Steve’s usual lunch table. The three talked and shared their food and it was all so comfortably natural that Steve wondered how it hadn’t happened before. He mentioned as much to the other two, and Sam looked at Natasha with a small grin.

“It’s nice, having you here,” he told her. She ducked her head to hide an answering smile, and Steve decided they were definitely good enough friends to tease her.

“I know that look,” he said pointedly, nudging her shin with his foot. “That’s the ‘don’t let Sam know how charming he is’ look.”

“Aww, it is!” Sam exclaimed. Steve was delighted until the other man’s grin turned wicked – and got aimed at Steve. “I recognize that look from Steve. He does it all the time.” The blond could feel his cheeks reddening, and Natasha laughed.

“I think we’d better join forces, Rogers,” she told him. “We have no hope against him otherwise.”

“I was actually thinking a divide and conquer approach first,” Steve told her. “For date night, anyway. There’s a jazz concert Sam and I were planning to go to on Friday, and I thought I might make Bucky dinner on Saturday… we could swap date nights?” Sam chuckled at that, and Steve immediately went into damage control mode, thinking his plan wasn’t any good after all, not matter how logical it had seemed.

“We don’t have to! I just thought, since we were going to the concert anyway maybe I could turn it into a proper date? But I didn’t want the other two to feel left out. Of course, we can do things any other way people want, I just-“ Sam cut him off with a quick kiss.

“Calm down, man. I’m definitely in, it’s a solid plan. I’m just enjoying the way you always have a plan.”

“Works for me, too,” Natasha chimed in. “I’ll tell James.”

“Ask, you mean?” Sam teased, but Steve and Natasha shook their heads at the same time.

“He likes people saying for sure what they want,” Steve explained.

“He’ll disagree if he has a better plan, but he hates groups always asking for input and taking forever to make plans, so he refuses to contribute to it,” Natasha added. She had just finished her text when someone from her department called her away, leaving Sam and Steve to walk back towards their offices together. Steve dared to twine his fingers in Sam’s and was rewarded with a happy grin in return.

“You two are terrible, and I hope you realize that,” came Darcy’s disgruntled voice from behind them. Steve knew he was blushing again, but Sam just laughed.

“Sorry we’re too cute for you to handle, Darce, but we can’t help it.”

“I suppose there are worse couples to have to stare at,” Darcy admitted with a theatrical sigh. “And none of them have ever made Coulson blush.” Her cackle haunted them the rest of the way to their offices.

                                 -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam was definitely looking forward to the weekend from the moment Steve mentioned dates. He had no idea what the other man had planned to turn their already-planned concert into a ‘proper date,’ but he was sure he was going to enjoy it. Not to mention, he got to take Natasha out on Saturday night. He had thought about doing something out of the ordinary, but decided classics are classics for a reason.

In all the anticipation and planning, it was Wednesday before he realized he had another boyfriend with whom he had no plans. They had all traded phone numbers, and Sam knew Steve and James had been texting fairly constantly. Sam would never have invaded their privacy by asking, but Steve would show him funny pictures James sent, and had pulled Sam in for a post-run selfie “because Bucky hates mornings so much, Sam, c’mon, it’ll be funny.” Steve and James had obviously picked up their old friendship with no trouble, and Natasha, of course, got to go home to James every night.

Sam had no such familiarity to fall back on. He and James texted tentatively, both aware of the oddity of their situation. They traded questions, learning things about each other that they already knew about their other datemates. It was fun, learning that James loved any kind of pasta except bowtie (“it’s an arts and crafts supply, not a real food”), pretended to hate Clint and Kate’s dog (“I’m maybe trying to train him to bark every time Clint says ‘coffee,’ because he talks to the coffeemaker every morning” “I think he’s smart enough to learn it” “Lucky, not Clint.” “Well, Clint’s pretty okay, I guess”), and how secretly thrilled he was when Kate confided in him about her love life (“I always wanted a little sister. Maybe cos we were in a boy’s home, so I only got sick of the idea of a little brother”). They skirted the serious issues – and two former servicemen had plenty to skirt – but Sam was pretty confident they would get there in time. Still, it wouldn’t do to go on two dates over the weekend when he might be able to wrangle three, so he pulled out his phone and texted James.

S: So, we both have two dates this weekend

J: Yeah, except I’m pretty sure me and Steve are just cooking dinner

S: Hey, a date is a date

J: True. TBH I’m really excited. Either he’s learned to cook, in which case I get food, or he hasn’t, in which case I get to make fun of him over takeout.

S: Ah, love

S: But, back to my original point.

J: The fact that kangaroos are overrated in terms of best marsupial?

S: No, but I stand by that. The dates: we both have two, but should have three. Are you busy Sunday?

J: Did you just ask me out with a text message?

S: Technically, you asked me out with your head in our girlfriend’s lap.

J: Shit, true. I guess I should be the one making plans, then.

S: Man, don’t get all heteronormative on me. That’s so far from applying to anything about our situation.

J: “Heteronormative.”

J: You’re something else, Sam Wilson. But I meant I asked first, therefore should plan. Sunday at three sound good?

Sam fist-pumped before typing out his reply:

S: “You know I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm terrible at planning, and I love everyone who is still patiently waiting on this. There was supposed to only be one more chapter, but then I saw how long it was getting and decided to just post this since I had it. I don't think I actually even have anything to say about it, since I wrote it before finals melted my brain.
> 
> I have a four day weekend coming up with very little actual responsibilities, so I'll hopefully be able to give all of you a concluding chapter for a holiday present.
> 
> It's just going to be them going on dates, and probably (definitely) some sex.
> 
> You're all wonderful, and I hope the weather is nice where you are.


	18. The One With The Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they all put the 'date' in 'date mate.'

**FRIDAY:**

Steve knocked on Sam’s door at exactly six p.m. Friday night, holding an intricate origami flower. They had seen each other a little over an hour ago at work, but Steve had insisted they have time to get ready before their date. When Sam opened the door, Steve could tell the other man had showered and changed clothes, which made the blond feel less ridiculous for having done the same.

“This is for you,” he said awkwardly, wondering how he had made it to almost 30 without figuring out how to not be a massive dork around his dates.

“You made me an origami flower?” Sam’s tone was impassive, but one of his eyebrows arched in surprise. “I didn’t want to buy flowers from the store because cut flowers are such a toxic industry and all but I didn’t want to show up empty handed, except folding a whole bouquet seemed tacky…”

“I love it, Rogers,” Sam assured him, perching the bloom delicately on the closest lampshade.

“Shall we?” Steve asked, offering his arm. Sam grinned again, the one that Steve was recognizing as humor at his bumbling romancing techniques, but took his arm. Anything that made Sam look so happy was worth a little embarrassment, in Steve’s opinion.

There had been a small amount of panic in the hour leading up to the date, during which Steve had Google searched “things to talk about on dates,” “how to not ruin a date,” and “help I’m dating my best friend and worried I’m going to fuck everything up between us.” Fortunately, his phone had lit up with a snapchat from Bucky before he could get too lost in his searches. Bucky had sent the post-run selfie Steve had pulled Sam into the other morning, captioned “Don’t overthink it: it’s Sam.” Knowing that Bucky had not only saved the picture, but also was somehow instinctively aware of Steve’s panic, the blond fired back a quick “I love you” and went to get ready for his date.

There was obviously no reason for him to have worried. All through dinner, their conversation flowed just as easily as it always did, the only change being the intent behind the flirting. When Steve finally admitted he almost always meant the joking flirtations that had gotten the pair called “work husbands,” Sam’s face did something complicated. It took Steve a moment to dissect the look and determine it was a combination of bashfulness, affection, and the same awestruck, delirious happiness Steve had seen Sam wear after skydiving. Of course, by the time the blond had parsed the other man’s expression, Sam had moved smoothly back into banter, but it had been a good look. Steve spent the rest of the night trying to get that look back, and succeeded three more times: when he grabbed Sam’s hand and casually let slip a “sweetheart” as they were walking to the concert; when he insisted they stop by the tiny Lebanese market to grab a snack Sam had once mentioned loving but not being able to easily get in the states (Steve may have filed away the information with plans of bulk ordering it as a Christmas gift); and once more as they walked up to Sam’s door.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t date much, you aren’t so bad at it,” Sam teased as they reached his front porch. Steve smirked, then replied in the most awkward tone he could manage.

“I, uh, had a great time tonight. You sure are somethin’ else.”

“I had a good time too,” Sam responded without missing a beat, barely concealing a smile. “Maybe we could go out again sometime?”

“Gee, that’d be swell.” Steve’s inner romcom script had abruptly shorted out when Sam stepped closer. Sam’s sleeves were still rolled up over his forearms, and Steve could feel the heat radiating from his body. However, his comment had completely broken the mood of whatever they were doing, as it pushed Sam over the edge laughing. He gripped Steve’s shoulder, and the taller man was struck by how perfectly they fit together. The natural next move was to wrap his arms around Sam’s waist, drawing him in for something closer to a standing cuddle than a hug. Sam melted willingly into it, and Steve couldn’t help hoping that the evening wasn’t over yet. Still, it was ultimately Sam’s choice, and the other man eventually pulled away.

* * *

 

“I believe the custom is to wait three dates before I invite you inside,” Sam commented, reluctantly pulling away from Steve’s warmth so he could open the front door.

“That’s what they say,” Steve agreed, dropping an affectionate kiss on the tip of Sam’s nose before stepping off the stoop. “Do you want to go to the market tomorrow? It’s been a couple weeks and they should have cherries by now.” Sam knew his face was doing that (probably dumb) expression he couldn’t seem to stop making when Steve did something adorable, but seriously! He hadn’t intended to actually send Steve home, but the other man was clearly perfectly willing to respect Sam’s boundaries. Not to mention, the way Steve kept treating the relationship as a bonus to their relatively unchanged friendship warmed Sam to the core – it was reassuring to know that, no matter what, he still had his best friend.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?” he demanded. Steve’s cheeks tinted pink, but he was almost immediately back in Sam’s space, cradling his cheek to angle in for the kiss. It was sweet and affectionate for about three seconds, at which point Sam tugged Steve’s hips into contact with his own while sneaking his tongue into the kiss. Steve let out a tiny huff of surprise, but quickly got with the program, crowding Sam against the door and doing something distractingly arousing to Sam’s bottom lip. By the time they broke for air, Sam had wedged a thigh between Steve’s legs, and the blond’s hands had found their way into Sam’s undershirt to toy with the bits of hipbones tangible above the waistband of his pants.

“Fuck societal convention,” Sam declared, twisting in Steve’s arms to unlock the door while losing as little contact as possible. “Come inside?”

Steve’s answer was a happy rumble deep in his chest, likely because his mouth was occupied dragging wet kisses up the column of Sam’s neck. The pair stumbled through the door still pressed back-to-front, Steve’s blunt nails gently raking across Sam’s abdomen. Sam threw his keys in the general direction of their hook so his hands were free to touch whatever part of Steve he could reach. One ended up buried in blond hair while the other twined with one of Steve’s, high under Sam’s shirt. Steve’s free hand had popped the button of Sam’s pants and was trailing fingertips just under the waistband of his boxers. It felt so good Sam never wanted to move; it felt so good he wanted to get himself and Steve naked as soon as possible.

Sam’s undecided haze was broken when Steve nipped at his neck, eliciting a gasp, before nosing at the ear in front of him.

“I wanna make you feel good, Sam.” His voice was husky, deeper than Sam had ever heard it, and it tugged at something deep in his gut. Steve’s breath was warm on Sam’s ear as he continued, hands still teasing. “You have no idea how much I wanna do to you, sweetheart. I wanna know what kind of sounds you make, how your face looks when you come, I’m gonna make it so good for you...”

The litany trailed off as Sam dove in for another kiss. Being called ‘sweetheart’ again had warmed his cheeks, and the rest of the words had warmed everything else. He really had intended to pull Steve through the apartment to his bed, but the couch was right there…

Something Sam hadn’t considered about getting hot and heavy with a workout buddy, though, was that the two of them regularly worked out. Meaning they were just a bit too broad to comfortably fit on the couch. A lot of laughter, some cursing, and a couple bruises later, the two ended up on the bed after all “like the goddamn adults we are, Sam, Jesus Christ.” That was not the last time Steve swore that night, but it was the last time he did it while he was laughing.

The pair ended up making it to the market the next day, though it was almost noon and the selection was not nearly as good as their usual morning pickings. Neither one minded too much.

* * *

 

Being the head of her department, Natasha basically set her own hours, while James was entirely beholden to the soulless temp company which employed him. This meant she generally beat him home by two or three hours on Fridays, so the sound of movement in the apartment as she arrived at the door made her very suspicious.

Whoever was in the apartment had evidently heard her key flip the deadbolt, judging by the muffled thud and curse, and it was at this point that most city dwellers would call the police and wait somewhere safe until the situation was resolved.

Natasha slipped into the foyer as quietly as possible, trading her noisy high heels and purse for stealthy stocking feet and the security bat. It was bright purple aluminum, a gift from Clint after he had broken the old one during his mercifully brief juggling phase.

Rounding the corner into the living room brandishing the bat, Natasha likely would have damaged some of the furniture if it had been in place. Whoever was in the apartment had cleared the living room floor, piling everything neatly against the far wall. This was clearly some new home invasion strategy the local news would no doubt be reporting on soon. Still, the real-life Tetris master seemed to have retreated to James’s room; she could hear movement behind the mostly closed door.

“Don’t fucking move,” she growled, shoving the door open and leveling the security bat at the entrance. Unfortunately, she had kicked the door a little too hard, and it bounced off the wall just to swing back into the security bat. Also, the intruder was apparently not an intruder at all, but her roommate, whose door she had just dented rather badly.

James was staring at her, wide eyed, frozen in the act of zipping his fly. He had apparently been changing into her favorite of his outfits, judging by the sinfully thigh-hugging black pants and the red button-up on his bed. Though, a part of her mind couldn’t help noting, shirtless and with pants undone was a  _very_ good look on him.

“Hi Natalia. You’re home early. Why do you have the security bat?” He finished closing his pants as casually as he could manage.

“I’m home early? You’re never home at this time on a Friday,” she snapped, still full of adrenaline from her fight-or-flight reflex picking ‘fight.’ “I thought you were a robber”

“Why would a robber stack all the furniture instead of taking it?” James reached for his shirt, but Natasha pinned it to the bed with the end of the security bat. She was enjoying his abs too much to let him hide them, and she figured she had earned a little treat for putting up with the alarm of a potential home invader.

“Why would you stack all the furniture?” she countered, smiling sharply as he gave up on trying to get his shirt.

“I’m experimenting in fung shui?”

“James, you’re home early on a weekday and were apparently rearranging our furniture naked. I’m mildly concerned.”

“I wasn’t naked,” he protested. “I just wanted to have my date clothes on before you got home but thought I had more time.”

“And your date preparation required clearing the living room?” she asked archly, and he sat down on the edge of his bed with a huff.

“Do you remember what you said when you picked out this place?” Natasha had to stop and stare for a few minutes, surprised James remembered anything from back then. She had chosen the apartment while he was just recovering from losing his arm, and she had said so many things to try and get him to do anything but stare, unseeing, into the distance.

“It has a great living room,” he quoted softly. “We can put the furniture against the wall and have a little studio sometimes, like we always wanted.”

‘Always’ had perhaps been a bit of an overstatement, but the pair had sometimes whispered about having an apartment big enough to dance in, a secret for the dark hours in the middle of the night. It was one of the things they let themselves want for the future, back when even surviving until the future had been too uncertain for real plans.

“You remembered that?” she rasped, voice coated in more emotions than she was typically comfortable expressing. He smiled at her so gently that she had to revert to teasing before the whole conversation got too sentimental to handle. “So our date was going to be dancing in our apartment?”

“Not JUST dancing!” James stood up defensively, but Natasha knew he was aware how much she liked his idea.

“What else, then, darling?” she teased, prowling into his personal space.

“A walk.” He swallowed hard, not immune to the inviting vibes she was intentionally throwing his way.

“A walk?”

“I may have called in a favor to get your favorite food truck to park between here and your favorite froyo place,” he admitted, flashing the grin that meant he knew he had done a good job.

“And were you planning on dancing in those pants?” she asked, openly admiring how well they outlined his form.

“They’re plenty flexible.” To demonstrate, James kicked one leg out to the side, proving the impressive stretch of the pants. They were definitely Natasha’s favorites, as was the challenging smirk that crossed his face.

“What about your outfit? That skirt looks pretty tight.” Partly because she couldn’t resist what was basically a dare and partly because she couldn’t resist being even closer to James, Natasha hitched her skirt high enough to swing a leg up to rest her ankle on his shoulder.

The skirt was a bit form-fitting, meaning it was far enough up her legs to show her underwear if not for her pantyhose. James grinned wider in appreciation, skimming his fingers along the outside of her leg. He started at the ankle, grazing lightly enough to drive her crazy by the time he reached the hem of her bunched-up skirt, barely low enough to be on the back of her thigh instead of her ass.

“I’m glad you can still do this,” he murmured, sliding his hand onto the small of her back to steady her as he stepped infinitesimally closer.

“Would you like to see what else I can still do?” she responded, hoping it came out flirtatious instead of as their typical dorky banter. He leaned in for a kiss, which seemed like a pretty good indication of success.

The kiss wasn’t searing. It was the slow, molten heat of lava that promised to outlast any paltry bonfire, and it made Natasha distinctly aware of every point of contact between herself and her fuckbuddy-turned-friend-turned-lover.

“What time were you planning on going on that walk?” she breathed when the kiss finally broke. She didn’t have to raise her voice above a whisper, what with the way James rested his forehead on hers rather than be any further than absolutely necessary.

“The food truck is expecting us around six-thirty.”

“It’s already five.”

“I figured we wouldn’t dance much before dinner. You’re always hungry after work, and you like to shower.” That reminded Natasha how much she would, in fact, like to have a shower before the evening went much further, and she wrinkled her nose. Sliding her ankle off James’s shoulder, she tugged her skirt a bit more into place and smiled ruefully.

“I would like to wash up, actually,” she admitted. Then again, all she needed was a quick rinse to get the feeling of the office off her skin, and there was no reason James couldn’t help with that. “Care to join me?”

* * *

 

Bucky felt like an idiot for not having everything completely ready by the time Natasha got home, but the evening wasn’t shaping up too badly. Knowing she would want a few minutes by herself before he joined her, Bucky didn’t immediately follow Natasha into her room. Instead, he shot Steve a reassuring text, fairly certain his boyfriend was well on his way to a minor crisis about his date with Sam.

Needing to kill a few more minutes, he went back to the living room to double check his stacking, incredibly aware of the fact that Natasha was getting undressed just a few walls away. He was a little bit regretful he didn’t get to do that part himself – then again, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have opportunities to do so in the future. He was probably the luckiest man in the world. Definitely the city.

“James, come wash my back.” He was in the bathroom and out of his pants almost before the command had finished. Natasha was visible through the fogged glass of the shower door, and Bucky was so distracted he almost forgot to take off his boxer briefs. She slid one of the doors open to smile invitingly at him, and he vaguely registered that she had used part of her alone time to remove her makeup, likely so it wouldn’t smudge in the shower, and pile her hair into a messy bun on top of her head that stayed out of the spray.

“Damn, but you’re beautiful, doll,” he sighed, running his hand along the side of her face. Natasha in full makeup was knockout stunning, and without she was still quite conventionally pretty. What really got him was the implicit trust involved, letting him see her without the mask she always showed the rest of the world. Not even Clint and Kate had seen her without at least a bit of makeup.

“You’ll do,” she teased, hands vigorously exploring the planes of his chest and back before he was even fully in the shower. Before he could reply, she pulled him into a kiss that pressed their entire bodies into contact, and his nerve endings lit up.

“You want me to wash your back, Natashenka?” he crooned, unabashedly fondling her ass to pull them even closer together. She had always melted for the combination of dirty talk and sweet endearments, and her tiny gasp told him that predilection hadn’t faded with time. “Maybe something else needs some attention, though. You want me to lick you clean, doll?”

“I want you to fuck me so hard I walk a little funny to the froyo place,” she growled, biting at his neck with just the right amount of force. Bucky’s already swollen cock pulsed in anticipation, and he hitched her leg around his own to aim a few teasing thrusts in the right direction. Their heights were too disparate, and their footing too uncertain on the slippery shower floor, for him to properly do anything, but Natasha’s hips twitched encouragingly all the same.

“Just say the word, beautiful, we’ll be out of this shower and I’ll fuck you so good you’ll get my fingertips bruised on your hips.” He skipped teasing and went straight for his goal, sliding two fingers into her while he sucked tiny hickies onto the sensitive undersides of her breasts between words. “Won’t that be a sight, my handprint on your pretty pale skin. Whatever you want, doll, I’m all yours.” Natasha’s nails raked up his back as she moaned when he hit just the right spot inside her, and he almost came just from that. “

Yes, darling, let’s do that, let’s do that now,” she demanded, drawing him into a breathless kiss that belied her words. Bucky briefly mourned the fact that he couldn’t stay inside her and still turn the shower off, but Natasha solved that issue by groping behind her for the faucet. She shuddered as he slowly dragged his fingers out of her, trailing over her clitoris and halfway up her abdomen before popping them in his mouth to at least nominally clean his hand.

They dried off quickly on the unspoken agreement that it was faster if they did it without touching, but crashed back together as soon as they were (mostly) dried off.

“Bed?” he asked, unable to form a more complete sentence with her hand wrapped firmly around him. She shook her head and hopped onto the counter with a grin, brandishing a condom she had apparently left next to the sink. Bucky had a lot of fond memories of fucking Natasha on various countertops and other flat surfaces, but he suddenly realized they were both still going by an old script that didn’t quite apply anymore. He leaned in for a softer kiss, gentling their movements without diminishing any of the intent.

“Natalia, love, you know this is a little different, right?” he asked quietly. She stared at him, wide eyed, until he brushed another quick kiss across her lips.

“It is,” she agreed. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still like it the way we used to have it.”

“I know, sweetheart, and I’m more than happy to completely ruin any plans we had for dancing. As long as you know this isn’t the only way it has to be.”

“I love you, James,” Natasha told him seriously, meeting his eyes and letting him see her honesty. “Another day, we’ll go so slow we can’t hardly stand it. But not right now?”

“Right, not right now,” Bucky agreed, snagging the condom and attempting to put it on before realizing he’d never done so one handed before. Attempting to sound more casual than he felt, he admitted the issue. “Okay so this won’t be exactly like old times.”

“Oh, darling,” Natasha responded fondly, deftly situating the condom and pulling him into her in one swift move. “We both know your left hand never did much for me anyway.” As usual, her blithe dismissal of his worry did more to reassure him than any amount of sincere understanding would’ve done. Already nearly blissed out at the thought of being with someone who knew him so well, he shifted them both until he hit an angle that had her gasping, and cracked a joke.

“So you’re saying I’m not less of a man?”

“If you’re – trying to get – me to compliment your dick – you should know I _oh right there_ will not do that!” Natasha managed. It was the last coherent statement to be had for some time. They were almost late to the food truck, and if Natasha was leaning on Bucky on the way there, well, they were in love. So in love that his legs felt a little weak too.

Yup, definitely the love.

* * *

  **SATURDAY:**

Steve felt like he finally understood the expression ‘walking on air’ as he floated through getting ready for his first official date with Bucky. He’d picked up all the ingredients for his go-to “looks impressive but is actually easy” recipe, and had left the chicken marinating in cooking wine and blueberry jam the night before for maximum flavor.

Angie had taught him how to cook when he was in his early 20s, finally declaring both him and Peggy too tragic to be allowed to continue, and while he usually kept it simple Steve knew he could definitely impress someone who had once seen him catch a salad on fire.

Bucky arrived at 5 on the dot, as Steve had expected, looking breathtaking, as Steve had expected but was not actually ready for. He hung his leather jacket on the hooks by the door and looked around, sniffing the air ostentatiously.

“Nothing smells like it’s burning,” he declared, reeling Steve in for a kiss.

“That’s because I’m an excellent cook, you jerk,” Steve replied, leading Bucky into the kitchen. “Wine?”

“Wow, fancy. What do you have?”

“A light white that will go well with dinner.” The counters were bare of any clear clues as to what they would be eating, which Steve saw was frustrating Bucky. “Will you get the salads out of the fridge?”

“These look good,” Bucky commented. “Not even singed.”

“Of course you remember that,” Steve grumbled. “I once won the school district art contest, why don’t you remember that instead?”

“Who says I don’t? But that’s for bragging to other people about how talented my boyfriend is. Making fun of said boyfriend’s lack of talent in other areas is for more private settings.” As he said this, Bucky sidled up behind Steve, sliding his arms around the blond’s slim waist and trying to sneak a look into the pot over Steve’s shoulder. Steve closed the lid just in time, shooing Bucky back to the table.

“I was going to light candles but figured you’d actually light a salad on fire just to spite me, so no romance for you,” he said, immediately negating his statement by pulling out Bucky’s chair. He filled two plates from the stove and brought them over to the table. Bucky looked at his plate mistrustfully.

“Stevie, our dinner is purple,” he stage whispered. “Is it supposed to be purple?”

“It can’t hear you, Buck. It’s blueberry chicken and goat cheese mac and cheese.” Bucky stared at Steve, who calmly sipped his wine. The brunet eventually took a hesitant bite of his dinner, then stared at Steve some more.

“Do you not like it?” Steve asked innocently.

“Marry me,” Bucky blurted, then immediately flushed bright red.

“Gosh, Buck, on the first date? What will the nuns think?”

“Shut up, Rogers, I was talking to the pasta.”

“Already sick of me, then, are you?”

“You can stay in the guest house when me and the pasta get married.”

“Such a generous offer.”

“I wonder if the Mother Superior will walk me down the aisle.”

Steve got unexpectedly serious at the remark, setting down his fork. Bucky paused, unsure if he had crossed a line joking about the woman who had run the boys’ home they grew up in.

“She actually passed away, a couple years ago,” Steve said gently, and Bucky set his fork down too. Of course Steve had kept in touch with the boys’ home. He had probably gone to the Mother’s funeral; probably donated to the home and went to special events there. Meanwhile Bucky was a reformed criminal who barely made enough to cover his bills, let alone help kids who were just like he had been.

“Bet the place isn’t the same without her,” he managed, and Steve smiled sadly.

“Sister Mary Joseph took on running it. They’re always looking for people to come in and spend time with the kids… You could come with me some time, if you want?” Bucky had to think for a minute. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that someone who had figured so largely in his childhood was dead. He had intentionally distanced himself from his past, but to know that the option of reintroducing himself to certain elements had permanently passed was unsettling in a way he couldn’t define.

“Can I think about it?” “Of course, Buck. A lot of the boys think about joining the military, though. So that’s something you could maybe talk to them about.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Bucky was not ready to deal with all of this on what was supposed to be a happy, fun evening. Steve, being the human angel that he was, immediately offered a distraction.

“My friend Angie was the one who taught me to cook. She was teaching her girlfriend Peggy too; we were both helpless in the kitchen. Wanna hear about the first time we tried to make pancakes?”

“Obviously.” Bucky was already matching Steve's contagious grin.

“Okay. Fair warning, this story contains an exploded Valentine’s balloon, a shouting match with a smoke alarm, some blood, and a surprise guest appearance by a TV personality.”

“I want to say you’ve got to be kidding but I’m afraid I know you too well.”

“Just remember,” Steve indicated the delicious meal in front of them, “that I did eventually improve.”

* * *

 

Natasha was disgruntled to find herself nervous before her date with Sam. Kate had been no help, saying useless things like ‘butterflies in the stomach’ and ‘heart eyes’ until Natasha had physically shoved her out of the apartment. Clint was allowed to stay, as he was an excellent hairdresser and Natasha wanted something a little above the normal level of effort she was willing to put into her hairstyles. His gentle teasing was definitely worth it, she decided, when she opened the door and Sam’s first word was “wow.”

“You don’t clean up too ugly yourself, Wilson,” she teased, rather proud of herself for managing more than a similarly awestruck ‘wow’ in reply. Her man cleaned up _fine_.

“I was going to bring flowers but decided I’d rather not overdo the cliché’s,” he told her, kissing her cheek lightly.

“I suppose I’ll let that slide,” she said, kissing him in return. “As long as dinner is good.”

“Beautiful, dinner is gonna be so good you’ll hardly even want to go to the show after.” Natasha was rather looking forward to the show, a dance showcase by a local company that had received rave reviews, so she doubted whatever restaurant Sam took her to would make her hesitate to get to the venue. He surprised her, however, by taking her not to a semi-fancy typical date restaurant but instead to a hole in the wall Vietnamese restaurant. The food and conversation were so good that it took the reminder alarm on Sam’s phone to get them moving, and even so they missed the opening remarks at the show.

Sam professed to know nothing about dancing, though he seemed delighted by Natasha’s commentary. It was refreshing; Bucky and Kate knew enough about dance and performance art to get snobby about shows, and with them Natasha would find herself on a downward spiral of catty remarks that made it hard to enjoy the actual performance. Clint refused to go to any form of entertainment that didn’t allow him to wear sweat pants, meaning Sam was the first person Natasha had seen a show with in a very long time who let her make comments but also kept her aware of the exceptional moments. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d left a performance so happy to have spent her time watching it, and told Sam as much.

“I had a good time too,” he told her seriously. “I like hearing the people I like talk about the things they like.”

“Maybe I’ll let you see me dance sometime,” she teased him, enjoying how he licked his lips in anticipation.

“I bet that’s quite a sight,” he said, taking her arm.

“You up for a little walk?”

“Not ready to let me go yet?” she asked archly.

“Not yet,” he replied sincerely. Natasha snuggled a little closer, and Sam led them in the general direction of home at a meandering pace. Before she was quite ready, they found themselves in front of Natasha’s apartment building.

“Come up for a coffee?” she asked in a tone that made it clear the coffee would be had the next morning. Sam smiled and kissed her, quick and sweet.

“I think you still don’t completely believe me,” he told her, making her blink in surprise at the apparent nonsequiteur.

“Believe you?”

“That I want to date you because of who you are, not how you look.” Natasha didn’t know how to reply; she had, almost subconsciously, figured she’d be sleeping with Sam tonight because that’s what men wanted when they said they wanted to date her.

“If you really, 110% want me to come upstairs with you, then I’m in,” Sam continued. “But I’m also content to let things happen naturally. We’re new to this. We still don’t know each other all that well. And while I fully expect to still want you around when I’ve seen you at your most obnoxious, or disgustingly sick, or pissed off, I know that right now you’re still showing me your best self, and I want you to be comfortable before we go any further.”

Natasha kept staring, not sure how to process this type of consideration. She realized she did, in fact, expect Sam to stop wanting her once he had seen her at less than her best; despite what they’d been through she still on a certain level expected Bucky, Clint, and Kate, to stop wanting to be around her.

“You’d really not be the least bit put out if I told you to go home right now?” she tested. Sam grinned warmly.

“I’d be delighted that you trust me enough to take me at my word.”

“Then get off my stoop, Wilson,” Natasha was aiming for playful, but Sam squeezed her hand as he stepped away and her heart melted a little.

“I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?” he asked, already on the sidewalk.

“Wait!” Natasha hopped down to the last step, putting them at eye level, and reeled him in by his tie. She kissed him soundly, and while he returned it enthusiastically his hands stayed at her hips and he didn’t press any closer.

“I’ll see you Monday,” she panted, giving him one last peck and backing away up the steps. Sam was grinning widely, and Natasha knew she had a similarly goofy expression on her own face.

“Text me when you get home!” she called, and he blew her a kiss as he turned and walked away.

 **Text from Sam:** Don’t even pretend like you didn’t think about catching that kiss

 **Text from Natasha:** Is that you saying you got home?

 **S:** Safe and sound. I had a great time.

 **N:** You’ll have a better time next time. It’s my turn to plan and I don’t like being second best at things.

 **S:** Can’t wait to see what you scheme up, beautiful

 **N:** Good night, you ridiculous man

 **S:** :x

 **N:** …

 **N:** …

 **N:** :x

 **S** : :D

 **N:**  *middle finger emoji*

 **S:** rude

 **N:**  *sunglasses emoji*

 **S:** haha goodnight, Natasha

 **N** : goodnight Sam

* * *

  **SUNDAY:**

Sam had thought he might get a little dated-out over the weekend, but by Sunday afternoon he was still in a happy daze at his incredible good luck. James (it was difficult to call a grown man ‘Bucky’ with a straight face) had asked to meet in a nearby park and was already waiting when Sam arrived at the gate. He was accompanied by a one-eyed but otherwise clearly well-loved dog.

“Hey handsome,” Sam greeted, laughing at James’s look of surprise as he knelt to make it clear he had been addressing the dog.

“I thought I was bringing a friend but clearly I played myself here,” James muttered as Lucky enthusiastically received ear scratches. “I’ll just leave you two to it, shall I?”

“Nah, you can stay,” Sam said magnanimously, standing to kiss James on the cheek. He was rewarded with a faint blush. “Hi.”

“Hi,” James returned, then nudged the dog forward. “This is Lucky. In case you hadn’t guessed.” Sam had, in fact, guessed at the identity of the dog, since the two had spoken at length about how great dogs were, especially when they belonged to other people. A realization suddenly dawned.

“Did you bring me to a dog park?” he asked excitedly.

“Is it stupid?” James looked worried, so Sam placed a hand on his shoulder and used the most serious voice he could muster.

“James. This may be my favorite place ever.”

“You wore clothes you don’t mind getting dirty, right?” “

Yeah, and thanks for making me try to walk the line of ‘can get dirty but still looks good for a first date,’ that was a nightmare. I thought we were going paintballing or something.”

“Paintballing.” James stared at him, deadpan. Sam’s eyes widened as he realized James probably couldn’t hold a paintball gun, and was besides that smarter than surprising a fellow ex-serviceman with potentially triggering date activities.

“So, dog park, great idea, Lucky, great dog, shall we?” Sam babbled, trying to move past his now overwhelming urge to sink into the pavement. Luckily, James just laughed and led them in. His backpack turned out to contain a frisbee and a couple tennis balls, making them briefly the most popular humans in the park.

A few sweaty, muddy, laughter-filled hours later, the pair were lounging on a bench enjoying some of New York’s finest street food while Lucky lazed underfoot hoping for scraps.

“You can admit it, you know,” James said, breaking what had been a comfortable silence. Sam arched an eyebrow at him, so he elaborated. “Admit that my date idea was better than what you would’ve come up with.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” Sam asked, uncannily reminded of what a little shit his other boyfriend could be. No wonder these two had been best friends; they must have been a nightmare duo.

“Full disclosure: that’s pretty much always how it’s gonna be,” James said, turning serious. “I’m competitive and bratty and sometimes moody and difficult. I’m crazy self-conscious about my arm and have done a lot of not-good things and I don’t have many friends but once I decide I like someone I cling to them for all I’m worth. You still interested?” Sam thought for a moment.

“I’m definitely competitive too, and get real touchy about shit I don’t like to talk about. I’m a total momma’s boy and can’t help flirting with basically everyone, though I’d never actually cheat. As a queer black man I deal with stuff the rest of you will not get, and I sometimes I get real angry about stuff that’s too big for me to change. Are YOU still interested?” James huffed out a laugh.

“It’s nice to hear you’re not totally perfect.”

“Man you’ve seen me do karaoke, you know I’ve got at least one flaw.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got enough good traits to make up for it,” James murmured, leaning in. Sam met him for a kiss that tasted like hot dogs but managed to not be at all repellent.

“One of those traits is date planning, so you’d better be prepared to be wowed,” he murmured back, and the next kiss tasted like laughter, and the one after that like a promise for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am the actual living embodiment of that tumblr post that says "fanfic authors are like "hey I'll finish this within the week" and then don't post for two more years" BUT in my defense in those two years I did a semester of grad school, changed jobs, moved countries, got a boyfriend, lost that boyfriend, started another part time job on top of my full time job, and am learning two languages. So, like, I've been busy.
> 
> As for the stuff you actually care about (the story): I think I'm done. I hit a block a bit back and then got busy and never got back to it until now, so if parts of the story sound different/weird it's because they were written two years apart but only over the course of like two days. I'm sure there are mistakes and it ends SUPER cheesily but I'm tired and have eaten a lot of cheese today (badum TSH) and overall I think it's not the worst thing I've ever written. 
> 
> Obviously these nerds live happily ever after, with lots of dates and mature conversations about feelings and love. Bucky gets a fancy prosthetic arm from E&L's R&D program, and impresses them so much with his innate engineering skills that they arrange an apprenticeship for him that covers his fees to get an engineering degree at night while working for them, and he's exhausted all the time but in a good way because he loves it and has three people looking out for him (there's a groupchat the whole time he's in school called the anti-raccoon squad, set up after he stayed awake for 53 hours because everyone thought someone else was watching him). He eventually goes to the boys' home with Steve and they bring Sam and are just generally positive male role models in the kids' lives, which is good because the boys are just around nuns most of the time. Also more than one nun has a small crisis of faith over these three hot men running around being so good with the kids and yes they wanna marry God but does God have biceps like those?  
> Natasha slowly builds trust with Sam and starts to get over her insecurity that he'll leave her once he gets what he wants, particularly catalyzed by the time Bucky tries to outcook Steve but ends up giving Natasha food poisoning and Sam just takes care of her even though she looks ghastly and is vomiting everywhere. Her dates are always off the wall and amazing and Sam acknowledges her superiority in date planning within the first three months. He and Bucky are still in vicious competition for the title of second place. Everyone but Steve knows that he is the real second best date planner of the quartet.  
> Coulson not-so-subtly starts dropping hints about being invited to Sam and Steve's wedding so Natasha "accidentally" lets him see the four of them kissing in various combinations until he's too confused to say anything. Darcy still ships all of them, and continues to be a menace at work retreats.  
> Bucky and Sam start to seriously talk about getting a puppy until Natasha convinces them that Steve is close enough.  
> They all go on dates in every combination (pairs, threes, and four), though Natasha and Steve were banned from having video game bro nights after they broke the third lamp.  
> Eventually they all move in together and have a giant bed that fits all of them and Sam always gets someone's hair in his mouth (Natasha's or Bucky's), Bucky hates how early the other men get up to run, Steve runs so hot he sweats on everyone if they don't let him sleep on the edge, and Natasha gets grumpy whenever they physically pick her up to move her, which happens a lot because she's so much smaller than them. They all love it and wouldn't have it any other way.
> 
> Pretty sure that's all I've got on this. There's a chance I'll add a coda or two but for now I'm gonna mark it complete, wish all y'all a happy whatever winter holiday you celebrate, and thank you, from the bottom of my cheese-clogged heart, for all the love and support you've shown me over this entire process.


End file.
